He was the road-worker.
I asked the road-worker if he had seen the curious signs.

He looked up at me with a broad smile (he had good-humoured, very bright blue eyes).
"Yes," he said, "but they ain't for me." "Then you don't follow the advice they give ?" "Not with a section like mine," said he, and he straightened up and looked first one way of the road and then the other.

"I have from Grabow Brook, but not the bridge, to the top o' Sullivan Hill, and all the culverts between, though two of 'em are by rights bridges.

And I claim that's a job for any full-grown man." He began shovelling again in the road as if to prove how busy he was.
There had been a small landslide from an open cut on one side and a mass of gravel and small boulders lay scattered on the smooth macadam.

I watched him for a moment.