‘Good-mornin’, Mr. Bubb,’ said the old lady. Ichabod beamed at this sudden and unexpected ceremonial of title, and straightened his back. ‘You ‘m afoot early, mum.’ ‘Why, yes. But it’s such a beautiful morning; it’s a shaame to lie abed a time like this.’ ‘So many folks, so many ways o’ thinkin’,’ said the ancient one; ‘not as it’s a sin as I often commits, nayther, ‘cos why, I don’t get the chance.’ ‘I’ve got a bit o’ business as I want done, Mr. Bubb,’ said Mrs. Busker, ‘if ye don’t mind earnin’ a shillin’.’ ‘Why,’ returned Ichabod, ‘I don’t know as I’ve got any, not to say rewted, objection to makin’ a shillin’.’ ‘You’re goin’ to the farm?’ Ichabod nodded. ‘Then I want you to take this note to Mr. Richard. But mind, you must get it to him private. Nobody else must know. D’you understand?’ ‘I’m all theer, missus,’ responded Ichabod. ‘Then there’s the note, an’ there’s the shillin’. An’ if you’re back in two hours you shall have a pint o’ beer.’ Ichabod took the note and the shilling, and clattered off with a ludicrous show of despatch, and the old lady returned to her sitting-room to await the result of his message. It came in less than the appointed time, and disappointed her terribly. Ichabod had ascertained that Dick had started half an hour before his arrival at the farm for Birmingham, and would only return to-morrow night to sleep and take away his luggage on the following morning. ‘And you come to me w’ a message like that, y’ ode gone-off!’ said the exasperated old woman. ‘You might ha’ caught him up i’ the time as you’ve wasted comin’ back here.’ ‘Caught him up,’ said Ichabod, with a glance at his legs. ‘Yis, likely, like a cow might ketch a race-hoss. I’m a gay fine figure, missus, to ketch up the best walker i’ the country-side.’ Mrs. Jenny was a woman, and therefore to offer her reason as an antidote to unreasoning anger was merely to heap fuel on flame. ‘Ah!’ she said, reasonably enraged with the whole masculine half of her species,’ you’re like the rest on ‘em.’ ‘Then I’m sorry for the rest on ‘em,’ said Ichabod, ‘whoever they may be.’ Here Mrs. Jenny shut the door upon him, leaving him in the street, and retired to her sitting-room. But with beer to be gained by boldness, Ichabod was leonine in courage. He knocked, and the summons brought the old lady to the door again. Ichabod spoke no word, but writhed his twisted features into a grin which expressed at once humorous deprecation and expectancy, and rabbed the back of his veiny hand across his bristly lips. ‘Go round to the brewus,’ said Mrs. Jenny; ‘you’ll find the maid there. It’s all you’re fit for, ye guzzlin’ old idiot.’ Ichabod retired, elate. ‘Her tongue’s a stinger; but, Lord bless thee, Ichabod, her bark’s a long sight worse than her bite. An’ her beer’s main good.’