"At least I think so. I should
like to meet him again."
"Well, he'll be Tonbridge way about now. I knows all his rounds an'
he's reg'lar as a clock."
"Do you know the way to Tonbridge?"
"Of course!"
"Yes, I'll go to Tonbridge to-morrow; you shall tell me the best way
to get there, if you will."
"'Tis very sure you are better of your beating."
"Yes, thank God!" I answered.
"Though your eyes will be black to-morrow."
"Which will serve me right and properly for my cowardice."
"But you're not afeard o' ghosts!"
"Heaven knows," quoth I bitterly, "I might be if I saw one. And as for
solitude, I don't think I should care to stay here alone night after
night and day after day as you seem to have done."
"Oh, you gets used to it."
"But how do you pass your time in this solitude?"
"Reads mostly, and makes my baskets; there be few can ekal me at rush
or willow. And there's good money in baskets!"
"What books have you read?"
"Not so many as I'd like."
"Tell me some of them."
"Well there's the 'Castle of Otranto' and Virgil and 'Peregrine
Pickle' and the Psalms, and 'Tom Jones' and John Milton's Poems,
'Tristram Shandy.' Dryden, Plutarch's lives--oh, and a lot beside--"
"And which do you like best?"
For answer she reached the six volumes from amongst her pots and pans
and these I found to be: Shakespeare, 'Tristram Shandy,' the Bible,
Anson's Voyages and 'Robinson Crusoe.'
"You have shown most excellent judgment and a most catholic taste!"
said I.
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