“Ay, I wants a pig-minder. But I reckon thee father can’t spare Abel for that now. A wish he could. Abel was careful with the pigs, he was, and a sprack boy, too.”
“I’ll be careful, main careful, Master Salter,” said Jan, earnestly. “I likes pigs.” But the farmer was pondering.
“Jan Lake—Jan,” said he. “Be thee the boy as draad out the sow and her pigs for Master Chuter’s little gel?” Jan nodded.
“Lor massey!” cried Master Salter. “I’ told’ee, missus, about un. Look here, Jan Lake. If thee’ll draa me out some pigs like them, I’ll give ’ee sixpence and a new slate, and I’ll try thee for a week, anyhow.”
Jan drew the slate-pencil from his pocket without reply. Mrs. Salter, who had been watching him with motherly eyes, pushed a small stool towards him, and he began to draw a scene such as he had been studying daily for months past,—pigs at the water-side. He had made dozens of such sketches. But the delight of the farmer knew no bounds. He slapped his knees, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and, as Jan put a very wicked eye into the face of the hindmost pig, he laughed merrily also. He was not insensible of his own talents, and the stimulus of the farmer’s approbation gave vigor to his strokes.
“Here, missus,” cried Master Salter; “get down our Etherd’s new slate, and give it to un; I’ll get another for he. And there’s the sixpence, Jan; and if thee minds pigs as well as ’ee draas ’em, I don’t care how long ’ee minds mine.”
The object of his visit being now accomplished, Jan took up his hat to depart, but an important omission struck him, and he turned to say, “What’ll ’ee give me for minding your pigs, Master Salter?”
Master Salter was economical, and Jan was small, and anxious for the place.
“A shilling a week,” said the farmer.