“Graves o’ two children, sir: jus’ on’y that—laid side by side, sir, where the sunlight lingered afore the shadow o’ Hog’s Back fell.
“‘Been there nigh sixty year,’ says Bill. ‘Pity,’ says he; ‘wonderful pity.’
“‘They won’t do you no harm,’ says Neverbudge.
“‘Ay,’ says Bill; ‘but I’m a bachelor, Tom, used t’ sleepin’ alone,’ says he, ‘an’ I’m ’lowin’ I wouldn’t take so wonderful quick t’ any other habit. I’m told,’ says he, ‘that sleepin’ along o’ children isn’t what you might call a easy berth.’
“‘You’d soon get used t’ that,’ says Neverbudge. ‘Any family man’ll tell you so.’
“‘Ay,’ says Bill; ‘but they isn’t kin o’ mine. Why,’ says he, ‘they isn’t even friends!’
“‘That don’t matter,’ says Neverbudge.
“‘Not matter!’ says he. ‘Can you tell me, Tom Neverbudge, the names o’ them children?’
“‘Not me.’
“‘Nor yet their father’s name?’