The eldest boy ran out to fetch some milk, the second dragged two stools towards the door, and the youngest crept to his mother's gown, and looked at the strangers from beneath his sunburnt hand.
'God save you, master,' said the old cottager in a thin piping voice; 'are you travelling far ?' 'Yes, Sir, a long way'-- replied the child; for her grandfather appealed to her.
'From London ?' inquired the old man.
The child said yes.
Ah! He had been in London many a time--used to go there often once, with waggons.

It was nigh two-and-thirty year since he had been there last, and he did hear say there were great changes.

Like enough! He had changed, himself, since then.

Two-and-thirty year was a long time and eighty-four a great age, though there was some he had known that had lived to very hard upon a hundred--and not so hearty as he, neither--no, nothing like it.
'Sit thee down, master, in the elbow chair,' said the old man, knocking his stick upon the brick floor, and trying to do so sharply.

'Take a pinch out o' that box; I don't take much myself, for it comes dear, but I find it wakes me up sometimes, and ye're but a boy to me.