“Now, my lads, are you quite sure,” said Mr Merryboy, “that you’ve had enough to eat?”
They both protested, with some regret, that they had.
“You couldn’t eat another bite if you was to try, could you?”
“Vell, sir,” said Bob, with a spice of the ‘old country’ insolence strong upon him, “there’s no sayin’ what might be accomplished with a heffort, but the consikences, you know, might be serious.”
The farmer received this with a thunderous guffaw, and, bidding the boys follow him, went out.
He took them round the farm buildings, commenting on and explaining everything, showed them cattle and horses, pigs and poultry, barns and stables, and then asked them how they thought they’d like to work there.
“Uncommon!” was Bobby Frog’s prompt reply, delivered with emphasis.
“Fust rate!” was Tim Lumpy’s sympathetic sentiment.
“Well, then, the sooner we begin the better. D’you see that lot of cord-wood lying tumbled about in the yard, Bob?”
“Yes, sir.”