“’Tis in a nutshell, sir, an’ we won’t keep a busy gentleman from his business,” said the old woman, very politely. “Joseph here have been gardener at the vicarage, man an’ bwoy, for twenty-five years—ever since theer was a garden at all. He helped to cut out the peat an’ make the place, as was just a new-take from Dartymoor, though now ’tis so good stuff as ever growed a cabbage.” “Ess fay; all rotted manure an’ butivul loam, so sweet as sugar, an’ drains like a sieve,” declared Joseph. “I want a gardener, of course, and cannot do better than Mr. Hannaford, though I’m not sure if it isn’t too much for one elderly man.” “It is!” almost shouted Joseph. “Never a Bible prophet said a truer word! Too much by half. Not that I’d demean myself to ax for another man, but a bwoy I should have, an’ I hope your honour will give me a bwoy, if ’tis only to fetch an’ carry.” “What wages did you get from Mr. Truman?” “Pound a week; an’ another shilling would be a godsend, if I may say it without offence.” “An’ up to squire’s they only offered him seventeen an’ sixpence, with all his ripe experience,” said Mrs. Hannaford. “’Twould be a fine lesson in Christianity to squire, I’m sure, if you seed your way to twenty-one shilling.” “Better than a waggon-load of sermons, if I may say so,” continued Joseph. “A sight better, seeing squire’s not greatly ’dicted to church-gwaine, best of times,” chimed in Mrs. Hannaford. “You’d be under-gardener there, no doubt?” “Ezacally so, dear sir. Under-gardener beneath Smallridge—a man three year younger than me. But ban’t for me to tell my parts. All the same, I wouldn’t work under Smallridge, not for money, if I could help it. Very rash views he’ve got ’bout broccoli, not to name roots an’ sparrowgrass.” “Terrible wilful touching fruit, also, they tells me,” added Mrs. Hannaford. “Well, you must come, I suppose. I could hardly turn you out of your old garden; nor is there any need to do so.” “An’ thank you with all my heart, your honour; an’ you’ll never regret it so long as I be spared.” “The extra shilling you shall have. As to a boy, I want a stable-boy, and he’ll be able to lend you a hand in the summer.” Mr. Hannaford nodded, touched his forehead, and mentally arranged a full programme for the boy. “Enough said, then. On Monday I shall expect you, and will walk round with you myself and say what I’ve got to say. Good-bye for the present.” Mr. Budd rose, and the old pair, with many expressions of satisfaction, were about to depart when their vicar spoke again. “One more matter I may mention, though doubtless there is no necessity to do so with two such sensible people. There are more sects and conventicles here than I like to find in such a very small parish. Of course you come to church every Sunday, Mr. Hannaford?” “As to that, your honour—” began Joseph; then his wife silenced him.