Nance sat herself on the terrace and watched him. There was something restful in the level, swinging rhythm.
David was not a talkative man, but he had his moments of illumined loquacity.
"Fine weather for the crops. They'll be making hay afore the end o' June. Maybe the French won't tarrify us at all."
Nance had the look of a contented listener. It was pure coincidence that sent David drifting toward matters that were vital to her needs. He began to talk about his relatives and their affairs, which were mostly of a sordid, poverty-stricken, and child-bearing order.
"Maybe you've heard speak of my sister, Sue Barton. Thirteen brats, and her man down with t' ague. Bad times, too. I don't say as the gentry can't be kind."
"Thirteen children, David!"
He stopped to sharpen his scythe.
"Pig's meal, they be glad to get it! Jim sick, and Sue expectin' as usual. It was lucky for Jim Barton as he had worked on and off for t' Benhams. They be good gentlefolk, t' Benhams, though t' old squire has the mouth of hell on him."
Nance said "Oh!"—a non-committal exclamation.
"Master Jasper, he be a good young gentleman."