We went to a third door, and immediately he cried out, 'Thuck's our feyther's: the kay's in the thatch.' We looked and could see the handle of the key sticking out of the eave over the door.
'Where are they all ?' I said.
'Aw, Bill's in the clauver; and Joe--he's in th' turmuts; and Jack be at public, a' spose; and Bob's wi' the osses; and----' 'They will be home to luncheon ?' said Cicely.
'Aw, no um wunt; they wunt be whoam afore night; thaay got thur nuncheon wi' um.' 'Is there no one at home in all the place ?' I inquired.
'Mebbe Farmer Bennet.

Thur beant nobody in these yer housen.' So we went on to Uncle Bennet's, whose house was hidden by a clump of elms farther down the coombe.

There were cottagers in this lonely hill hamlet, not only old folk but young persons, who had never seen a train.

They had not had the enterprise or curiosity to walk into Overboro' for the purpose.

Some of the folk ate snails, the common brown shell-snail found in the hedges.