“Gentlemen,” said Tom, “it’s no idle affair, I can assure you, to shuffle from town to town with a lame leg;”—and Tom drew his right foot in with an expression of well-affected pain in his face. “You’ve heard, no doubt, of the old man on his death-bed that his wife was giving a lot of messages to carry to her relations in the next world, when he interrupted her with, ‘Hold thy tongue, old woman; dost think I can go stumping all over heaven with my lame leg to carry thy gossip?’ That man knew, gentleman, what a burden a lame leg is.” The farmers, who had evidently never heard of the stumping about heaven story before, laughed heartily. “How did you get lamed, young man?” asked one. “In service, sir.” “What, you’ve bin a sodger, eh?” “Yes, sir.” “Ay, ay, that’s where you’ve picked up your knowledge. Now I see. I reckon you’ve learned th’ Eleventh Commandment?” “No,” said Tom, “what’s that?” “Not know that, an bin a sodger? Why, th’ Eleventh Commandment is—‘As new debts come on so fast, thou shalt not pay the old ’uns.’” “Well, thank heaven,” said Tom, “I’ve no occasion for book-keeping. I’ve no credit to give, and I get as little. Blessed are those that have nothing, for they cannot lose it. Now, I reckon you gentlemen farmers find many slips betwixt the cup and lip. I can tell you of a funny thing as happened to an alderman of our town.” “Where’s your town? I thought all towns were alike to your trade.” “Well, that’s just it,” said Tom; “but Tag-town, in the land of Green Ginger, where the houses are built of black-puddings and thatched with pancakes, and with windows that used to be glazed with barley-sugar, but the lads have broken all the panes. That is my particular town; and there, as I was going to say, is a jolly alderman, a big, broadchested, hearty, laughing man he is, and pokes his fingers in your sides when he tells you a good story. Well, he has a fine, large garden, and in the middle of it a fine, large lawn, and in the middle of the lawn is a fine, large oak-tree. Now, the grass of the lawn had become thin, and the alderman told his gardener to dig up his lawn, and sow it with barley for the fowls, and next year they would turf the lawn again. The gardener thought this an odd fancy, but said he to himself, aldermen arn’t farmers, nor yet gardeners.” “He wor right there,” said the farmers. “Nothing would serve our alderman, but the lawn must be dug up and sown with barley, and so it was at spring. The barley came up and grew finely, and the alderman said to the gardener, ‘Well, John, we shall have a fine crop here.’ “‘No, sir,’ said the gardener; ‘you’ll excuse me, but you’ll just have none at all.’” “‘None at all; why not?’ said the alderman. ‘It looks very healthy.’ “‘It does so,’ said the gardener; ‘but mark my word—you won’t have no barley here.’ “‘Why, how is that?’ demanded the alderman. “‘I can’t just say,’ said the gardener, ‘but that’s how it will be.’