"Well, Miss Anthea,—considering as he were—the best, good-naturedest, properest kind o' gentleman as ever was; when I tell you as over an' above all this, he could use his fists better than any man as ever I see,—him having knocked me into a dry ditch, though, to be sure I likewise drawed his claret,—begging your pardon, I'm sure, Miss Anthea; all of which happened on account o' me finding him a-sleeping in your 'ay, mam;—when I tell you furthermore, as he treated me ever as a man, an' wern't noways above shaking my 'and, or smoking a pipe wi' me—sociable like; when I tell you as he were the finest gentleman, and properest man as ever I knowed, or heard tell on,—why, I think as the word 'fond' be about the size of it, Miss Anthea mam!" saying which, Adam nodded several times, and bestowed an emphatic backhanded knock to the crown of his hat.
"You used to sit together very often—under the big apple tree, didn't you, Adam?"
"Ah!—many an' many a night, Miss Anthea."
"Did he—ever tell you—much of his—life, Adam?"
"Why yes, Miss Anthea,—told me summat about his travels, told me as he'd shot lions, an' tigers—away out in India, an' Africa."
"Did he ever mention—"
"Well, Miss Anthea?" said he enquiringly, seeing she had paused.
"Did he ever speak of—the—lady he is going to marry?"
"Lady?" repeated Adam, giving a sudden twist to his hat.
"Yes,—the lady—who lives in London?"