“I’ve been countin’ of ye up,” pursued Joseph, leaning on his stick and looking nervously round. “Here be twenty chaps workin’ in the ’lotments; aye, twenty chaps, not reckonin’ women and childern, an’ ye be all puttin’ in taters. An’ here am I wi’ my garden at home waitin’ to be planted, an’ not a bit o’ seed to put in it.”
“I telled ’ee, didn’t I?” muttered Jan to his nearest neighbour. “I knowed ’twas that he was at.”
“I’ve lived among ye man and bwoy for seventy-five year. Aye, an’ my wife an’ me has been wed among ye fifty-two year. There she d’ sit at home crippled, poor soul. We’ve nought in the world but what parish gives us. Half a pound o’ tea a week, an’ some bread. Bread an’ tea, neighbours, bread an’ tea; ’tisn’t very satisfyin’ to the innards. Me an’ my wife was never great folks for mate, but we d’ like a tater to our dinner, or a bit o’ green stuff. An’ so I’ve a-bin thinkin’—”
He looked round again, hesitatingly and pitifully.
“’Tis a mortal sight o’ taters as is here among ye between one an’ another—aye, a mortal lot. I d’ ’low”—again the pause and the appealing glance—“if every man ’ud spare me a few like I’d get two or three ranks made up without any of ye bein’ at much loss.”
The bystanders looked at each other, then each man glanced involuntarily at his own store. None of them were over well endowed with this world’s goods, and the calculations of each had been made to a nicety. Old Jim Cross continued to work without turning his head, and Jan Domeny smiled somewhat sarcastically.
“Why, ye see ’tis this way, Joseph,” said a large mild man, with an habitually puzzled expression of countenance; “we be pore folks, all on us; we’ve a many little mouths to feed, an’ not much to put in ’em. An’ what wi’ prices goin’ up an’ rent day a-comin’ round so often like, a man’s hand d’ seem to be always in his pocket, an’ it’s give, give, an’ pay, pay, ever an’ always, d’ye see? Now my taters,” he cast a calculating eye upon the half-filled sack at his feet, “they’ll not go so far to make up three ranks for ourselves, an’ three ranks is the least we can do wi’. Aye, wi’ a houseful of growin’ childern taters d’ last—well, I mid say they lasses next to no time.”
His hearers drew a long breath of relief. If Ed’ard Boyt, who was well known to be a poor man with a long family, had been imprudently generous, what might not be expected of other folks who might be supposed better able to afford him assistance?
“Aye, ’tis very true what Ed’ard says. Charity d’ begin at home. It ’ud seem a bit ’ard to go a-buyin’ for oneself along of helpin’ a neighbour,” said somebody.
“Aye, I d’ ’low ’tis true,” agreed another.