"
I thanked her, and reached down another piece; which Jenny held to the
fire on a fork. And then we were silent for a minute or so.
"I'll tell yo what," said Nanny, "some folk's o'th luck i'th world."
"What's up now, Nanny?" replied I.
"They say'n that Owd Bill, at Fo' Edge, has had a dowter wed, an' a
cow cauve't, an a mare foal't o' i' one day. Dun yo co' that nought?"
Before I could reply, the sound of approaching footsteps came upon our
ears. Then, they stopt, a few yards off; and a clear voice trolled out a
snatch of country song:--
"Owd shoon an' stockins,
An' slippers at's made o' red leather!
Come, Betty, wi' me,
Let's shap to agree,
An' hutch of a cowd neet together.
"Mash-tubs and barrels!
A mon connot olez be sober;
A mon connot sing
To a bonnier thing
Nor a pitcher o' stingin' October."
"Jenny, my lass," said the old woman, "see who it is. It's oather
'Skedlock' or 'Nathan o' Dangler's.'"
Jenny peeped through the window, an' said, "It's Skedlock. He's
lookin' at th' turmits i'th garden. Little Joseph's wi' him. They're
comin' in. Joseph's new clogs on."
Skedlock came shouldering slowly forward into the cottage,--a tall,
strong, bright-eyed man, of fifty.
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