The Broad Highway

"What news?" said I, turning.

"S'prisin' noos it be--ah! an' 'stonishin' tu. But first of all,

Peter, I wants to ax 'ee a question."

"What is it, Ancient?"

"Why, it be this, Peter," said the old man, hobbling nearer, and

peering up into my face, "ever since the time as I went an' found

ye, I've thought as theer was summ'at strange about 'ee, what wi'

your soft voice an' gentle ways; an' it came on me all at once

--about three o' the clock's arternoon, as you might be a dook

--in disguise, Peter. Come now, be ye a dook or bean't ye--yes

or ne, Peter?" and he fixed me with his eye.

"No, Ancient," I answered, smiling; "I'm no duke."

"Ah well!--a earl, then?"

"Nor an earl."

"A barrynet, p'r'aps?"

"Not even a baronet."

"Ah!" said the old man, eyeing me doubtfully, "I've often thought

as you might be one or t' other of 'em 'specially since 'bout

three o' the clock 's arternoon."

"Why so?"

"Why, that's the p'int--that's the very noos as I've got to tell

'ee," chuckled the Ancient, as he seated himself in the corner.

"You must know, then," he began, with an impressive rap on the

lid of his snuffbox, "'bout three o'clock 's arternoon I were

sittin' on the stile by Simon's five-acre field when along the

road comes a lady, 'an'some an' proud-looking, an' as fine as

fine could be, a-ridin' of a 'orse, an' wi' a servant ridin'

another 'orse be'ind 'er. As she comes up she gives me a look

out o' 'er eyes, soft they was, an' dark, an' up I gets to touch

my 'at. All at once she smiles at me, an' 'er smile were as

sweet an' gentle as 'er eyes; an' she pulls up 'er 'orse. 'W'y,

you must be the Ancient!' says she. 'W'y, so Peter calls me, my

leddy,' says I. 'An' 'ow is Peter?' she says, quick-like; ''ow

is Peter?' says she. 'Fine an' 'earty,' says I; 'eats well an'

sleeps sound,' says I; ''is arms is strong an' 'is legs is strong,

an' 'e aren't afeared o' nobody--like a young lion be Peter,'

says I. Now, while I'm a-sayin' this, she looks at me, soft an'

thoughtful-like, an' takes out a little book an' begins to write

in it, a-wrinklin' 'er pretty black brows over it an' a-shakin'

'er 'ead to 'erself. An' presently she tears out what she's

been a-writin' an' gives it to me. 'Will you give this to Peter

for me?' says she. 'That I will, my leddy!' says I. 'Thank

'ee!' says she, smilin' again, an' 'oldin' out 'er w'ite 'an' to

me, which I kisses. 'Indeed!' says she,' I understand now why

Peter is so fond of you. I think I could be very fond of 'ee

tu!' says she. An' so she turns 'er 'orse, an' the servant 'e

turns 'is an' off they go; an' 'ere, Peter--'ere be the letter."

Saying which, the Ancient took a slip of paper from the cavernous

interior of his hat and tendered it to me.