"Ye see," he cried, as soon as he had recovered his breath
sufficiently, "ye see, I be wunnerful spry an' active--could
dance ye a hornpipe any day, if I was so minded."
"On my word," said I, "I believe you could! But where are you
going now?"
"To Siss'n'urst!"
"How far is that?"
"'Bout a mile acrost t' fields, you can see the pint o' Joel
Amos's oast-'ouse above the trees yonder."
"Is there a good inn at Sissinghurst?"
"Ay, theer's 'The Bull,' comfortable, an' draws fine ale!"
"Then I will go to Sissinghurst."
"Ay, ay," nodded the old man, "if it be good ale an' a
comfortable inn you want you need seek no further nor
Siss'n'urst; ninety an' one years I've lived there, an' I know."
"Ninety-one years!" I repeated.
"As ever was!" returned the Ancient, with another nod. "I be the
oldest man in these parts 'cept David Relf, an' 'e died last
year."
"Why then, if he's dead, you must be the oldest," said I.
"No," said the Ancient, shaking his head,--"ye see it be this
way: David were my brother, an' uncommon proud 'e were o' bein'
the oldest man in these parts, an' now that 'e be dead an' gone
it du seem a poor thing--ah! a very poor thing!--to tak' 'vantage
of a dead man, an' him my own brother!" Saying which, the
Ancient rose, and we went on together, side by side, towards
Sissinghurst village.