"But why does she wear a blue bonnet and give yellow tickets?" Taffy
asked, as they drove on.

Joby considered for a minute. "Ah, you're one to take notice, I see.
That's right, keep your eyes skinned when you travel."

Taffy had to think this out. The country was changing now. They had
left stubble fields and hedges behind, and before them the granite
road stretched like a white ribbon, with moors on either hand, dotted
with peat-ricks and reedy pools and cropping ponies, and rimmed in
the distance with clay-works glistening in the sunny weather.

"What sort of place is Nannizabuloe?"

"I don't go on there. I drop you at Indian Queens."

"But what sort of place is it?"

"Well, I'll tell you what folks say of it:"

'All sea and san's,
Out of the world and into St. Ann's.'

"That's what they say, and if I'm wrong you may call me a liar."

"And Squire Moyle?" Taffy persevered. "What kind of man is he?"

Joby turned and eyed him severely. "Look here, sonny. I got my
living to get."