At the moment of my joining him he was breaking up an old wooden bucket which had lately been condemned as useless. "Th' old bucket's done for," he said contemplatively. "I dessay he seen a good deal o' brewin'; but there en't much of it done now. A good many men used to make purty near a livin' goin' round brewin' for people. Brown's in Church Street used to be a rare place for 'em. Dessay you knows there's a big yard there; an' then they had some good tackle, and plenty o' room for firin'. Pearsons, Coopers"--he named several who were wont to make use of Brown's yard and tackle. I asked, "Did the cottage people brew?" But Bettesworth shook his head. "I never knowed none much--only this sugar beer." "But they grew hops?" I asked. "Oh yes," Bettesworth assented, "every garden had a few hills o' hops. But 't wa'n't very often they brewed any malted beer. Now 'n again one 'd get a peck o' malt, but gen'ly 'twas this here sugar beer. Or else I've brewed over here at my old mother-in-law's, 'cause they had the tackle, ye see; and so I have gone over there when I've killed a pig, to salt 'n." A suggestion that he would hardly know how to brew now caused him to smile. "No, I don't s'pose I should," he admitted. I urged next that nearly all people, I supposed, used at one time to brew their own beer. To which Bettesworth: "And so they did bake their own bread. They'd buy some flour...." I interrupted, remembering how he had himself grown corn, to ask if that was not rather the custom. "Sometimes. Yes, I _have_ growed corn as high as my own head, up there at the back of this cot.... But my old gal and me, when hoppin' was over, we'd buy some flour, enough to last us through the winter, and then with some taters, and a pig salted down, I'd say, 'There, we no call to _starve_, let the winter be _what_ it will.' Well, taters, ye see, didn't cost nothin'; and then we always had a pig. You couldn't pass a cottage at that time that hadn't a pigsty.... And there was milk, and butter, and bread...." "But not many comforts?" I queried. "No; 'twas rough. But I dunno--they used to look as strong an' jolly as they do now. But 'twas poor money. The first farm-house I went to I never had but thirty shillin's and my grub." "Thirty shillings in how long?" "Twal'month. And I had to pay my washin' an' buy my own clothes out o' that." The point was interesting. Did he buy his clothes at a shop, ready made? "Yes. That was always same as 'tis now. Well, there was these round frocks--you'd get _they_"--home-made, he meant. And he told how his sister-in-law, Mrs. Loveland, and her mother "used to earn half a living" at making these "round" or smock frocks to order, for neighbours. The stuff was bought: the price for making it up was eighteen-pence, "or if you had much work on 'em, two shillin's." Much fancy-work, did he mean?