"Deserted the flocks, then?" asked the poet.
The shepherd grinned.
"'Ess, sir. Folded 'em early, do 'ee see, sir, an' come down to make some money at the harvest, sir."
He paused to fill his mouth with bread, taking at the same time a long pull of cold tea.
"Hungry work, sir, it be, this harvest work."
"It must undoubtedly stimulate the appetite, as you say."
"'Ess, sir, that it do. But it's good work fer the likes o' I, sir, it be, means more money, doan't 'ee see, sir; not as I bees in want o' money, sir, but it's always welcome, sir. No, sir, I needn't do no work fer a year an' more, sir, an' live like a gen'lman arl the time, too, sir."
"You have saved, then?"
"'Ess, that I have, an' there's a many as knows it, sir, an' asked I to marry 'em, sir, too, they 'as, but not I, sir. I sticks to what I makes, sir. An' look 'ee 'ere, sir, money's easy spent along o' they gals, sir, ben't it, onst they gets their 'ands on it?"