use?" he asked. I told him that lately I had found a ginger quill no more inefficacious than other patterns. "I haven't any," he said. "I'd thank you for a couple." I gave him one, but none the less he thanked me as he fastened it to his gut.
"You staying in this field?" he asked. I said I was. It was evident to me that he knew of the two-pounder. "Then," said he, with an anxious glance towards the alder, "I'll be getting on."
I reminded him that he still had my matches.
He took them from his pocket. Then he said: "You live here, don't you?" I said I did. "Well," he said, "it would be very kind of you if you'd let me have these. I'm far from home," he added, with pathetic humour, "and matchless." He was right.
I said: "Please keep the box." He replaced it in his pocket. "Thank you," he said, for the third time. "A cigarette?" He opened a case full of gold-tipped things. Now there is only one cigarette. I declined his magnanimous offer. He looked rather amazed, I thought.
When he had gone quite away I left the meadow and walked about two hundred yards to old Mrs. Pescod's shop, where I got some matches. Then I was able to smoke again.
