A cold turnip-pasty stood on the table, with the cider-jug that Job
Lear regularly emptied at supper. These suggested no small-talk, and
the pair sat down to eat in silence.
It was only while holding out his plate for a second helping of the
pasty that Job spoke with a full mouth.
"Who d'ee reckon I ran across to-day, down in Troy?"
Miss Marty cut the slice without troubling to say that she had not a
notion.
"Why, that fellow Amos Trudgeon," he went on.
"Yes?"
"'Pears to me you must be failin' if you disremembers 'en: son of old
Sal Trudgeon, that used to keep the jumble-shop 'cross the water: him
that stole our eggs back-along, when father was livin'."
"I remember."
"I thought you must. Why, you gave evidence, to be sure. Be dashed!
now I come to mind, if you wasn' the first to wake the house an' say
you heard a man hollerin' out down 'pon the mud."
"Iss, I was."
"An' saved his life, though you did get 'en two months in Bodmin Gaol
by it. Up to the arm-pits he was, an' not five minutes to live, when
we hauled 'en out, an' wonderin' what he could be doin' there, found
he'd been stealin' our eggs.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197