"Not lately I ain't, Luther."

"Not since 'is 'taters be out o' ground?"

"No. Finest crop in village, some do say."

"That be right--sev'ral ton of 'em there be."

"What to goodness do 'e want 'em all for, then? 'Im an' 's wife an' a
maid 'll never eat all them 'taters."

"I'll tell you what 'e says to me, for 'appen 'e'll say it to you,
George, when 'e comes acrost you next. 'E says to me, 'I've growed
as many potatoes as I've had strength to grow, an' they've prospered
exceedin'ly,' 'e says, 'thank God! So if any deservin' folk in my parish
gets through wi' their own crop an' wants more later on they 'as only to
come to me, for I've growed more 'an my 'ouse'old 'll eat if they was to
eat all day.'"

"'E be proud o' that?"

"Fine an' proud 'e be."

"An' yet it be some'at unfort'nate too. For all of us as is left in this
'ere parish 'as growed as many 'taters as they'll be like to need, same
as 'e. So I don't see nought but disappointment for Parson an' a lot o'
good 'taters lyin' to rot in their pies."

"Some there be too fond o' Parson to let that 'appen. Me an' my wife