‘O, not always? That’s a pity!’ exclaimed the farmer with a cheerful eye.
‘I knew you’d say so. And I shan’t be able to sleep here at night sometimes, for the same reason.’
‘Not sleep here o’ nights?’ said the old gentleman, still more relieved. ‘You ought to sleep here—you certainly ought; in short, you must. But you can’t!’
‘Not while we are with the colours. But directly that’s over—the very next day—I’ll stay here all day, and all night too, to oblige you, since you ask me so very kindly.’
‘Th-thank ye, that will be very nice!’ said Uncle Benjy.
‘Yes, I knew ’twould relieve ye.’ And he kindly stroked his uncle’s head, the old man expressing his enjoyment at the affectionate token by a death’s-head grimace. ‘I should have called to see you the other night when I passed through here,’ Festus continued; ‘but it was so late that I couldn’t come so far out of my way. You won’t think it unkind?’
‘Not at all, if you couldn’t. I never shall think it unkind if you really can’t come, you know, Festy.’ There was a few minutes’ pause, and as the nephew said nothing Uncle Benjy went on: ‘I wish I had a little present for ye. But as ill-luck would have it we have lost a deal of stock this year, and I have had to pay away so much.’
‘Poor old man—I know you have. Shall I lend you a seven-shilling piece, Uncle Benjy?’
‘Ha, ha!—you must have your joke; well, I’ll think o’ that. And so they expect Buonaparty to choose this very part of the coast for his landing, hey? And that the yeomanry be to stand in front as the forlorn hope?’
‘Who says so?’ asked the florid son of Mars, losing a little redness.