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“That’s true,” assented Abel.

“An’ there’s another thing,” pursued the farmer, following up his advantage, “if you’d ha’ married when ye was a young un, your sons would be gettin’ into years pretty well by now themselves. They’d have wives an’ families o’ their own. Lard bless you! that they would, an’ where ’ud you be among ’em all?”

This flight of imagination was too much for Robbins, who did not attempt to follow it. He came back instead to the point at issue.

“Eight shillin’ a week,” he repeated. “’Tis what your father give me when I first worked for en. Ay, I worked for en for that an’ kept myself. You mind the time, master; you were a young un too yourself—there is but a two year atween us, but you’ve wore well, fanner; a deal better nor I. ’Tis the good food, I daresay—ay, ay, it makes a lot of difference. Good keep makes fat sheep, as the sayin’ goes. A man laisses twice as long if his victuals is nourishin’.”

“Come, come, I do ’low you’re tough though,” laughed his master good-naturedly. “Ye’ll see me down, maybe. You come of a long-lived race, shepherd.”