Outside a stable door at the bottom of
a long back lane without a thoroughfare, a groom in undress was
idling about, apparently persuading himself that he was doing
something with a spade and a wheel-barrow. We may remark, in
this place, that we have scarcely ever seen a groom near a stable,
in his lazy moments, who has not been, to a greater or less extent,
the victim of this singular delusion.
Sam thought he might as well talk to this groom as to any one
else, especially as he was very tired with walking, and there was a
good large stone just opposite the wheel-barrow; so he strolled
down the lane, and, seating himself on the stone, opened a
conversation with the ease and freedom for which he was remarkable.
'Mornin', old friend,' said Sam.
'Arternoon, you mean,' replied the groom, casting a surly look
at Sam.
'You're wery right, old friend,' said Sam; 'I DO mean arternoon.
How are you?'
'Why, I don't find myself much the better for seeing of you,'
replied the ill-tempered groom.
'That's wery odd--that is,' said Sam, 'for you look so uncommon
cheerful, and seem altogether so lively, that it does vun's
heart good to see you.
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