"Not a mossel of use," said Hedges sententiously. "These yer quality be such a akkerd lot;" and he knocked the ashes out of his pipe on the iron-bound edge of the trestle-table. The object of this armour was to prevent the labourers sticking their billhooks into it when they called for a quart, for hedge-cutters are apt to strike their tools into the nearest piece of wood when they want their hands free. Having filled the pipe again, and finding he had no match, he stepped into the inn-kitchen to light it at the fire, and instantly noticed a large red-hot nail in a log of burning wood. "Missis, missis!" The landlady came running. "Look ee thur--thur's a crooked nail in thuck log. Draw un out--doan't ee waste un. Nails be amazin' useful thengs." "Zo um be," said Farmer Ruck. "Volk used to save um. I knowed them as had a gallon measure full of hoss-stubs: thaay be the toughest iron, and makes the vinest gun-barrels." "Them cut nails be as rotten as matchwood," said Bill the "wunt-catcher," i.e. mole-catcher, throwing down his wooden traps. "Time o' day to ee, missus;" nodding to her over the mug, and meaning good health. "The vinest gun as ever you seed wur thuck long un up to Warren. Mebbe you minds Kippur Mathew?" "I minds un," said Farmer Ruck. "Thuck gun would kill your chain. Thur wur a hole in the barrel as yer med put yer vinger in. Mathew, he squints along at the geame, and I holds a dock-leaf auver this yer hole, and he lets vly, and kills half a score o' quests," [wood-pigeons]. [This expedient of the dock-leaf over a crack in the barrel was actually put in practice.] "A' wur a chap to fiddle," said Hedges. "A' made hisself a fiddle out o' thuck maple as growed in Little Furlong hedge. Hulloa, Pistol-legs!" This was addressed to an aged man who had crawled up on two sticks. His legs, bent outwards--curved like the butt of a pistol--had obtained him this nickname. "Nation dry weather," said the ancient, lifting his head with some difficulty. "Gie me a drap." A labourer leaning against the elm handed him his quart. "Ay, ay; thur bean't no such ale as thur used to be;"--after he had taken his fill. "I say, Gaffer," said another fellow, a carter, who had left his horses by the drinking-trough--"I say, Gaffer Pistol-legs, how old bist thee?" "Aw," said the patriarch, shaking his head, "I be amazin' old, I be. I be vourscore and five year come Christmas." "Warn you minds a main deal?" "I minds when the new water-wheel wur put in Fisher's mill." "When wur thuck?" "Aw, about dree-score year ago." "Anything else, Gaffer?" "Eez; I minds when your grandfeyther wur put in the stocks." "Ha, ha! and after all your 'sperience, Pistol-legs, what do ee think be the best theng of all?" said Hedges. "Aw," said the ancient, picking up his sticks, and delivering his philosophy of the _summum bonum_ with intense gusto. "The vinest theng of all be a horn o' ale and a lardy-cake!"