“It’s job work that I do for our house,” returned Silas, drily, and with reticence; “it’s not yet brought to an exact allowance.”

“Oh! It’s not yet brought to an exact allowance? No! It’s not yet brought to an exact allowance. Oh!⁠—Morning, morning, morning!”

“Appears to be rather a cracked old cock,” thought Silas, qualifying his former good opinion, as the other ambled off. But, in a moment he was back again with the question:

“How did you get your wooden leg?”

Mr. Wegg replied, (tartly to this personal inquiry), “In an accident.”

“Do you like it?”