He had no company for the first part of the journey, and that was a trial to a lad of Jack’s sociable disposition. As became a midshipman of his Majesty’s navy, he was ready to talk freely with peer or peasant. The few people he saw were going in the opposite direction, and though in pleasant country fashion they "passed the time of day," there was no occasion for stopping to chat. But, about five miles out of Wynport, he saw just ahead of him, on the winding white road, a man with a wooden leg, stumping along beside a donkey-cart. The man had a broad back and looked a sturdy fellow. The day being hot he had stripped off his coat, which dangled from a nail in the tail-board of the cart; and he carried in his left hand a glazed hat. Jack was almost abreast of the cart when the man heard his footsteps, turned, and seeming to recognize him, pulled his forelock and said: "Morning, sir, morning." "Good morning. Uncommon hot, isn’t it? You seem to know me?" "Not to say know, sir. I’ve seed ye, that’s all. I’ve been to Wynport; I goes there twice a week with my old moke here, and a cargo of fruit or vegetables, times and seasons according. And when I goes to Wynport, in course I looks up old messmates." "You’ve been a sailor, then?" "Nigh thirty year, sir! Joe Gumley my name: ranked A.B. when I got my leg shot off in a’ action with a French privateer six year ago. In course I were discharged then. I were a fisherman till they pressed me for the navy, so when I were no more use to his Majesty, sir, I come back to my native place, which be Luscombe, sir, and what with fishing and gardening and such like I manage to make both ends meet, as they say. I’ve got a tidy bit of cottage at a low rent from Squire Bastable—" "Oh! he’s my cousin." "Now, if you’d said uncle, sir—" "Well, he’s my mother’s cousin; my second cousin, I suppose." "Not having any myself, I don’t know second from first. Howsomever, as I were saying, I’ve give up the fishing now; but I keep to the gardening—not an easy job with this stump of mine, ’cos when I’m digging the misbehaving thing will sink in, and it takes a terrible time to be always heaving it out. Like as if you was to have to drop anchor and heave it again every knot you made. But I’ve got over that there little contrariness by taking a square bit of board with me now. When I’m going to dig, down goes the board, I sticks my stump on that, and so we gets on as merry as you please, ’cos when I want to shift, all I’ve got to do is to kick the board along a few inches, and there we are." "Well, but how came you to know me?"