"Aye, for sure I were singin', but then who could help singin' on such a
mornin' as this be, an' wi' the black-bird a-piping away in the tree
here. Oh! I were singin', I don't go for to deny it, but it's sore
'earted I be, an' filled wi' gloom sir, notwithstanding."

"You mean," said Bellew, becoming suddenly thoughtful, "that you are
haunted by the Carking Spectre of the--er Might Have Been?"

"Lord bless you, no sir! This ain't no spectre, nor yet no
skellington,--which, arter all, is only old bones an' such,--no this
ain't nothin' of that sort, an' no more it ain't a thing as I can stand
'ere a maggin' about wi' a long day's work afore me, axing your pardon,
sir." Saying which, the Waggoner nodded suddenly and strode off with his
pails clanking cheerily.

Very soon Bellew was shaved, and dressed, and going down stairs he let
himself out into the early sunshine, and strolled away towards the
farm-yard where cocks crew, cows lowed, ducks quacked, turkeys and geese
gobbled and hissed, and where the Waggoner moved to and fro among them
all, like a presiding genius.

"I think," said Bellew, as he came up, "I think you must be the Adam I
have heard of."

"That be my name, sir."

"Then Adam, fill your pipe," and Bellew extended his pouch, whereupon
Adam thanked him, and fishing a small, short, black clay from his
pocket, proceeded to fill, and light it.