“You mean,” said Bellew, becoming suddenly thoughtful, “that you are haunted by the Carking Spectre of the—­er Might Have Been?”

“Lord bless you, no sir!  This ain’t no spectre, nor yet no skellington,—­which, arter all, is only old bones an’ such,—­no this ain’t nothin’ of that sort, an’ no more it ain’t a thing as I can stand ‘ere a maggin’ about wi’ a long day’s work afore me, axing your pardon, sir.”  Saying which, the Waggoner nodded suddenly and strode off with his pails clanking cheerily.

Very soon Bellew was shaved, and dressed, and going down stairs he let himself out into the early sunshine, and strolled away towards the farm-yard where cocks crew, cows lowed, ducks quacked, turkeys and geese gobbled and hissed, and where the Waggoner moved to and fro among them all, like a presiding genius.

“I think,” said Bellew, as he came up, “I think you must be the Adam I have heard of.”

“That be my name, sir.”

“Then Adam, fill your pipe,” and Bellew extended his pouch, whereupon Adam thanked him, and fishing a small, short, black clay from his pocket, proceeded to fill, and light it.

“Yes sir,” he nodded, inhaling the tobacco with much apparent enjoyment, “Adam I were baptized some thirty odd year ago, but I generally calls myself ‘Old Adam,’”

“But you’re not old, Adam.”

“Why, it ain’t on account o’ my age, ye see sir,—­it be all because o’ the Old Adam as is inside o’ me.  Lord love ye!  I am nat’rally that full o’ the ‘Old Adam’ as never was.  An’ ‘e’s alway a up an’ taking of me at the shortest notice.  Only t’other day he up an’ took me because Job Jagway (’e works for Squire Cassilis, you’ll understand sir) because Job Jagway sez as our wheat, (meanin’ Miss Anthea’s wheat, you’ll understand sir) was mouldy; well, the ‘Old Adam’ up an’ took me to that extent, sir, that they ’ad to carry Job Jagway home, arterwards.  Which is all on account o’ the Old Adam,—­me being the mildest chap you ever see, nat’rally,—­mild? ah! sucking doves wouldn’t be nothin’ to me for mildness.”

“And what did the Squire have to say about your spoiling his man?”

“Wrote to Miss Anthea, o’ course, sir,—­he’s always writing to Miss Anthea about summat or other,—­sez as how he was minded to lock me up for ‘sault an’ battery, but, out o’ respect for her, would let me off, wi’ a warning.”

“Miss Anthea was worried, I suppose?”

“Worried, sir!  ‘Oh Adam!’ sez she, ’Oh Adam! ’aven’t I got enough to bear but you must make it ‘arder for me?’ An’ I see the tears in her eyes while she said it.  Me make it ’arder for her!  Jest as if I wouldn’t make things lighter for ’er if I could,—­which I can’t; jest as if, to help Miss Anthea, I wouldn’t let ’em take me an’—­well, never mind what,—­only I would!”

“Yes, I’m sure you would,” nodded Bellew.  “And is the Squire over here at Dapplemere very often, Adam?”