“Well,” said Mrs. Solent, “I can’t quite tell whether my company pleased him or not. He talked most of the time about my neighbour, Roger Monk. He seems to have got into his head that the poor man spies upon him. I tried at first to disabuse him of that idea; but he got so agitated that I just let him go on. In the end he became quite charming. He recited to me a poem about a woodpecker, which I thought very pretty. He has such a nice voice when he recites, and the evening was so lovely after the rain that I really enjoyed it all very much.”

“No doubt Mr. Otter were sober as a jackdaw when ’a walked with ’ee, ma’am. I’m not saying he isn’t a nice-spoken gentleman, for he is. It’s not so much the drink they talk of, along of he, down where I do live, it’s⁠—”

“Oh, Mother, please!” interrupted Gerda. “Do look, Mother, how nicely Mrs. Solent tied my sash!”