"Didn't git a chance to, p'r'aps?" said Simon.
"It weren't that, no, it were jest 'is imagination a-workin' an'
workin' inside of 'im, an' fillin' 'im up. 'Ows'ever, at last,
one day, 'e up an' axed 'er to marry 'im, an' she, bein' all took
by surprise, said 'yes,' an' went an' married some'un else."
"Lord!" said Simon, "what did she go and marry another chap for?"
"Simon," returned the Ancient, "don't go askin' fulish questions.
'Ows'ever, she did, an' poor Nicodemus growed more imaginative
than ever; arter that, 'e took to turnips."
"Turnips?" exclaimed Simon, staring.
"Turnips as ever was!" nodded the Ancient, "used to stand, for
hours at a time, a-lookin' at 'is turnips an' shakin' 'is 'ead
over 'em."
"But--what for?--a man must be a danged fule to go shakin' of 'is
'ead over a lot o' turnips!"
"Well, I don't know," rejoined the Ancient; "'is turnips was very
good uns, as a rule, an' fetched top prices in the markets."
At this juncture there appeared a man in a cart, ahead of us, who
flourished his whip and roared a greeting, a coarse-visaged,
loud-voiced fellow, whose beefy face was adorned with a pair of
enormous fiery whiskers that seemed forever striving to hide his
ears, which last, being very large and red, stood boldly out at
right angles to his head, refusing to be thus ambushed, and
scorning all concealment.
"W'at--be that the Old Un--be you alive an' kickin' yet?"
"Ay, God be thanked, John!"
"And w'at be all this I 'ear about that theer Black Jarge--'e
never were much good--but w'at be all this?"
"Lies, mostly, you may tak' your oath!" nodded the Ancient.
"But 'e've been took for poachin', ah! an' locked up at the
'All--"
"An' we 'm goin' to fetch un--we be goin' to see Squire--"
"W'at--you, Old Un? You see Squire--haw! haw!"
"Ah, me!--an' Peter, an' Simon, 'ere--why not?"
"You see 'is Worship Sir Peregrine Beverley, Baronet, an' Justice
o' the Peace--you? Ecod! that's a good un--danged if it ain't!
An' what might you be wishful to do when ye see 'im--which ye
won't?"
"Fetch back Jarge, o' course."
"Old Un, you must be crazed in your lead, arter Jarge killin'
four keepers--Sir Peregrine's own keepers too--shootin' 'em stone
dead, an' three more a-dyin'--"
"John," said the Ancient, shaking his head, "that's the worst o'
bein' cursed wi' ears like yourn--"