'Ay, do ye show him the birds, Rosa. I'd be glad to have his opinion on
'em.'

The old man turned to hobble into the house, and Rosa, as she supported
his arm, called back over her shoulder:

'I'll not be a minute, Mr. Garstin.'

Anthony strolled round to the yard behind the house, and waited,
watching a flock of glossy-white poultry that strutted, perkily pecking,
over the grass-grown cobbles.

'Ay, Miss Rosa, they're a bonny lot,' he remarked, as the girl joined
him.

'Are they not?' she rejoined, scattering a handful of corn before her.

The birds scuttled across the yard with greedy, outstretched necks. The
two stood, side by side, gazing at them.

'What did he give for 'em?' Anthony asked.

'Fifty-five shillings.'

'Ay,' he assented, nodding absently.

'Was Dr. Sanderson na seein' o' yer father yesterday?' he asked, after a
moment.

'He came in t' forenoon. He said he was jest na worse.'