“Done,” said the man.
So he was given a spade, and he worked capitally. Mr. Pengelly watched him from his windows, from behind a wall, and the man never left off work except to spit on his hands; that was his only relaxation, and he did not do that over-often.
Mr. Pengelly was mighty pleased with his workman; he sent him to sleep in the barn, and paid him his day’s wage that he might buy himself a bit of bread.
Next morning Mr. Pengelly was up with the lark. But the workman was up before Mr. Pengelly or the lark either, and was digging diligently in the garden.
Mr. Pengelly was more and more pleased with his man. He went to him during the morning; then the fellow stuck his spade into the ground, and said:
“I’ll tell yu what it is, sir, I like work! I love it! but I cannot dig without butes or shoes. Yu may look: I’ve no soles to my feet, and the spade nigh cuts through them.”
“Yu must get a pair of shoes,” said Mr. Pengelly.
“That’s just it,” says the man; “but no boot-maker will trust me; and I cannot pay down, for I haven’t the money, sir.”
“What would a pair of shoes cost, now?” asks his employer, looking at the man’s feet wholly devoid of leather soles.
“Fefteen shilling, maybe,” says he.