“I should think thee would have taken thy death of cold,” said Mrs. Crowder, “staying in that cold well the whole afternoon.”

“No,” said her husband, with a smile; “I was not afraid of that.  If I should have taken cold I knew it would not be fatal, and although the water chilled me at first, I became used to it.  An hour or two after nightfall I clambered up the well-rope,—­and it was not an easy thing, for although not stout, I am a heavy man,—­and I got away over the fields with all the rapidity possible.  I did not look back to see if the army were still on the road, nor did I ever know whether I had been searched for or had been forgotten.

“I shall not describe the rest of my journey.  There is nothing remarkable about it except that it was beset with many hardships.  I made my way into Switzerland and so on down the Rhine, and it was nearly seven months after I left Madrid before I reached England.

“I remained many years in Great Britain, living here and there, and was greatly interested in the changes and improvements I saw around me.  You can easily understand this when I tell you it was in 1512, twenty years after the discovery of America, that I had last been in England.  I do not believe that in any other part of the world the changes in three hundred years could have been more marked and impressive.

“I had never visited Ireland, and as I had a great desire to see that country, I made my way there as soon as possible, and after visiting the most noted spots of the island I settled down to work as a gardener.”

“Always poor,” ejaculated Mrs. Crowder, with a sigh.

“No, not always,” answered her husband.  “But wandering sight-seers cannot be expected to make much money.  At this time I was very glad indeed to cease from roving and enjoy the comforts of a home, even though it were a humble one.  The family with whom I took service was that of Maria Edgeworth, who lived with her father in Edgeworthstown.”

“What!” cried Mrs. Crowder, “‘Lazy Lawrence,’ ‘Simple Susan,’ and all the rest of them?  Was it that Miss Edgeworth?”

“Certainly,” said he; “there never was but one Maria Edgeworth, and I don’t think there ever will be another.  I soon became very well acquainted with Miss Edgeworth.  Her father was a studious man and a magistrate.  He paid very little attention to the house and garden, the latter of which was almost entirely under the charge of his daughter Maria.  She used to come out among the flower-beds and talk to me, and as my varied experience enabled me to tell her a great deal about fruits, flowers, and vegetables, she became more and more interested in what I had to tell her.  She was a plain, sensible woman, anxious for information, and she lived in a very quiet neighborhood where she did not often have opportunities of meeting persons of intelligence and information.  But when she found out that I could tell her so many things, not only about plants but about the countries where I had known them, she would sometimes spend an hour or two with me, taking notes of what I said.