“To be sure you did, Father Jack,” said Sarah, promptly.

“Ah, zo ’a did,” said the old man, chuckling.  “Zo ’a did, and her ladyship avore yu.  I mind her when her was a little maid, and pretty ways her had wi’ her, zame as now.  None zo ramshacklin’ as yu du be, Miss Zairy.”

“There’s nobody about that he doesn’t remember as a child,” said Sarah, apologetically.  “He’s so old, you see.  He doesn’t remember how old he is, and nobody can tell him.  But he knows he was born in the reign of George the Third, because his mother told him so; and he remembers his father coming in with news of the Battle of Waterloo, So I think he must be about ninety.”

“Lard, mar like a hunderd year old, I be,” said Happy Jack, offended.  “And luke how I du wark yit.  Yif I’d ’a give up my wark, I shude ’a bin in the churchyard along o’ the idlers, that ’a shude.”  He chuckled and winked.  “I du be a turble vunny man,” quavered the thin falsetto voice.  “They be niver a dune a laughin’ along o’ my jokes.  An’ I du remember Zur Timothy’s vather zo well as Zur Timothy hisself, though ’ee bin dead nigh sixty year.  Lard, ’ee was a bad ‘un, was y’ ould squire.  An old devil.  That’s what ’ee was.”

“He only means Sir Timothy’s father had a bad temper,” explained Sarah.  “It’s quite true.”

“Ah, was it timper?” said Jack, sarcastically.  “I cude tell ’ee zum tales on ‘un.  There were a right o’ way, zur, acrust the mead thereby, as the volk did claim.  And ’a zays, ’A’ll putt a stop tu ‘un,’ ’a zays.  And him zat on a style, long zide the tharn bush, and ’a took ’ee’s gun, and ’a zays, ’A’ll shute vust man are maid as cumes acrust thiccy vield,’ ’a zays.  And us knowed ’un wude du ’t tu.  And ’un barred the gate, and there t’was.”

He laughed till the tears ran down his face, brown as gingerbread, and wrinkled as a monkey’s.

“Mr. Crewys is in a hurry, Jack,” said Sarah.  “He’s only just arrived from London, and he’s walked all the way from Brawnton.”

“’Tain’t but a stip vur a vine vellar like ‘ee, and wi’ a vine maiden like yu du be grown, var tu kip ’ee company,” said Happy Jack.  “But ’ee’ll be in a yurry tu git tu Barracombe, and refresh hisself, in arl this turble yeat.  When the zun du search, the rain du voller.”

“I dare say you want a glass of beer yourself,” said John, producing a coin from his pocket.

“No, zur, I doan’t,” said the road-mender, unexpectedly.  “Beer doan’t agree wi’ my inzide, an’ it gits into my yead, and makes me proper jolly, zo the young volk make game on me.  But I cude du wi’ a drop o’ zider zur; and drink your health and the young lady’s, zur, zo ’a cude.”

He winked and nodded as he pocketed the coin; and John, half laughing and half vexed, pursued his road with Sarah.

“It seems to me that the old gentleman has become a trifle free and easy with advancing years,” he observed.

“He thinks he has a right to be interested in the family,” said Sarah, “because of the connection, you see.”