"I 'ope you didn't pay much for the ring, Sam," ses Ginger, who always
got very kind-'arted arter two or three glasses o' whisky. "If I'd known
you was going to be in such a hurry I might ha' told you before."

"We ought to ha' done," ses Peter, shaking his 'ead.

"Told me?" ses Sam, staring at 'em. "Told me wot?"

"Why me and Peter gave it up," ses Ginger; "but, o' course, p'r'aps you
don't mind."

"Mind wot?" ses Sam.

"It's wonderful 'ow quiet she kept it," ses Peter.

Old Sam stared at 'em agin, and then he asked 'em to speak in plain
English wot they'd got to say, and not to go taking away the character of
a woman wot wasn't there to speak up for herself.

"It's nothing agin 'er character," ses Ginger. "It's a credit to her,
looked at properly," ses Peter Russet.

"And Sam'll 'ave the pleasure of bringing of 'em up," ses Ginger.

"Bringing of 'em up?" ses Sam, in a trembling voice and turning pale;
"bringing who up?"

"Why, 'er children," ses Ginger. "Didn't she tell you? She's got nine
of 'em."