"Anything a'most," was the prompt reply.
"You're too clever by a long way," laughed the old man; "but let's perticlerize a bit. Can you spud thistles?"
Benny looked bewildered. He knew nothing about "spuds" or "thistles" so he shook his head in reply.
"Canst a whet a scythe?"
Another shake of the head.
"Take out arter the mowers?"
"No."
"Dibbel tates?"
"I don't know."
"Humph. Canst a milk?"
"I ken drink it, if that's wot you mean," said Benny.
"Ha! ha! Mary," raising his voice, "fetch the lad a mug o' milk." And in a few moments a stout red-armed girl brought Benny a pint mug, brimful of rich new milk.
"Ay, ay," said the old man, "I see thee canst do thy part in that direction weel eno'. Have another?"
"No, thank you."
"Humph. I fear thee'rt no 'count in the country, lad."
"But I could larn," said Benny.
"Yes, yes, that's true; thee'rt a sharp boy. I shouldn't wonder if thee couldn't get a job at t' next village."
"How far?" said Benny.
"Short o' two mile, I should say."
"Thank you." And once more Benny set off on the tramp. It was scarcely noon, and the day was melting hot. Outside the village the sun's rays beat down pitilessly on
