leisurely, thoroughgoing manner.

The back door of The Trellis House, as the quaint-looking, long, low
building to the right was incongruously named, opened into the
stable-yard and by the door was a bench. Timmy walked boldly across the
yard and established himself on the bench and his dog, Flick, jumped up
and sat sedately by him. The little boy then took a small black book out
of his pocket. The book was called "The Crofton Boys" and Timmy had
chosen it because the name of the new tenant of The Trellis House was
Mrs. Crofton, a friend, as he was aware, of his godfather, Godfrey
Radmore. He wondered if she had any boys.

The two men, busy with big new brooms, came up close to where Timmy was
sitting. When the child, obviously "one of the gentry," had walked into
the stable-yard, they had abruptly stopped talking; but now, seeing that
he was reading intently, and apparently quite uninterested in what they
were doing, they again began speaking to one another, or rather one of
them, a hard-bitten, shrewd-looking man, much the older of the two, began
talking in what was, though Timmy was not aware of it, a Cockney dialect.

"You won't find 'er a bad 'un to work for, m'lad. I speak of folks as I
find them. I'm not one to take any notice of queer tales!"

"Queer tales. What be the queer tales, Mister Piper?"

Timmy knew this last speaker. He was the baker's rather sharp younger
son, and Mrs. Crofton had just engaged him as handy man.

The older man lowered his voice a little, but Timmy, who, while his eyes
seemed glued to the pages of the book he held open, was yet listening