"Well, I don't know," rejoined the Ancient; "'is turnips was very good uns, as a rule, an' fetched top prices in the markets."
At this juncture there appeared a man in a cart, ahead of us, who flourished his whip and roared a greeting, a coarse-visaged, loud-voiced fellow, whose beefy face was adorned with a pair of enormous fiery whiskers that seemed forever striving to hide his ears, which last, being very large and red, stood boldly out at right angles to his head, refusing to be thus ambushed, and scorning all concealment.
"W'at—be that the Old Un—be you alive an' kickin' yet?"
"Ay, God be thanked, John!"
"And w'at be all this I 'ear about that theer Black Jarge—'e never were much good—but w'at be all this?"
"Lies, mostly, you may tak' your oath!" nodded the Ancient.
"But 'e've been took for poachin', ah! an' locked up at the 'All—"
"An' we 'm goin' to fetch un—we be goin' to see Squire—"
"W'at—you, Old Un? You see Squire—haw! haw!"
"Ah, me!—an' Peter, an' Simon, 'ere—why not?"