"Going to the fair, Mr. Duck?"
"Yes, m'm," said John, deep in his chest and gruff, about as a horse might be expected to speak if he had a voice. "You going, m'm? I just come up to ask if you'd ride in my dog-trap?"
John had a first-rate turn-out.
Mrs. Iden, beaming with smiles, replied that she was not going to the fair.
"Should be glad to take you, you know," said John, dipping into the ale. "Shall you be going presently?"—to Mr. Iden. "Perhaps you'd have a seat?"
"Hum!" said Iden, fiddling with his chin, a trick he had when undecided. "I don't zactly know; fine day, you see; want to see that hedge grubbed; want to fill up the gaps; want to go over to the wood meads; thought about——"
"There, take and go!" said Mrs. Iden. "Sit there thinking—take and go."
"I can't say zactly, John; don't seem to have anything to go vor."
"What do other people go for?" said Mrs. Iden, contemptuously. "Why can't you do like other people? Get on your clean shirt, and go. Jack can wait—he can talk to Amaryllis while you dress."
"Perhaps Miss would like to go," suggested John, very quietly, and as if it was no consequence to him; the very thing he had called for, to see if he could get Amaryllis to drive in with him. He knew that Mrs. Iden never went anywhere, and that Mr. Iden could not make up his mind in a minute—he would require three or four days at least—so that it was quite safe to ask them first.