"Well," said he, "I bean't."
"But why not?" His eye roved slowly up from my boots to the
buttons on my coat.
"Them be fine buttons!" said he.
"Do you think so?"
"Look like silver!"
"They are silver," said I.
"Lord!" he exclaimed, "you wouldn't part wi' they buttons, I
suppose?"
"That depends!"
"On what?"
"On how much you would give for them." The Ploughman thrust a
hand into a deep pocket, and brought up five shillings.
"I were a-goin' to buy a pair o' boots, on my way 'ome," he
explained, "but I'd rayther 'ave they buttons, if five shillin'
'll buy 'em."
"The boots would be more serviceable," said I.
"Maybe, sir, but then, everybody wears boots, but there bean't
many as can show buttons the like o' them--so if you're willin'--"
"Lend me your knife," said I. And, forthwith, I sawed off the
eight silver buttons and dropped them into his palm, whereupon he
handed me the money with great alacrity.
"And now," said I, "tell me why you are not happy."
"Well," returned the Ploughman, back at his ear again, "ye see it
bein' as you ask so sudden-like, I can't 'zack'ly say, but if you
was to pass by in a day or two, why, maybe I could tell ye."
So, pocketing the buttons, he whooped cheerily to his horses, and
plodded off, whistling more merrily than ever.