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"A gert, tall think 'e be, wi' a 'orn on 'is 'ead, and likewise a tail; some might ha' thought 't was the Wanderin' Man o' the Roads as I found 'angin' on t' stapil some on 'em du, but I knowed better I knowed 't were Old Nick 'isself, all flame, and brimstone, an' wi' a babby under 'is arm!" "A baby?" I repeated. "A babby as ever was," nodded the Ancient.
"Sixty and six years is an age," said I. "So it be," nodded the Ancient. "I were a fine young chap in those days, tall I were, an' straight as a arrer, I be a bit different now." "Why, you are getting old," said I. "So 's t' stapil yonder, but t' stapil looks nigh as good as ever." "Iron generally wears better than flesh and blood," said I; "it's only natural."
'I'll last 'ee out yet! I've said, an' so I will, to 'e can't last forever an' I be a vig'rus man a mortal vig'rus man bean't I?" "Wonderfully!" said I. "An' so strong as a bull?" "To be sure." "An' t' stapil can't last much longer eh, maister? so old an' rusty as 'e be?" "One would hardly think so."
He lay very quiet for a while, with the broken staple clasped to his breast, and his eyes closed. "Peter," said he suddenly, "you won't 'ave no one to bring you noos no more why, Peter! be 'ee cryin' for me? 'Tis true 't were me as found ye, but I didn't think as you'd go to cry tears for me I be goin' to tak' t' owd stapil wi' me, Peter, all along the road an', Peter " "Yes, Ancient?"
I thought " The quivering voice broke off. "'Tis all right, grandfer, never think of it see there, I be smilin'!" and she kissed him many times. "A danged fule I be!" said the old man, shaking his head. "No, no, grandfer!" "That's what I be, Prue a danged fule! If I do go afore that theer old, rusty stapil, 'twill serve me right a danged fule I be!
"I mean that, although it had no heart, the staple was tired and worn out just as you are, and so I brought it to you," and I slipped the rusty bit of iron into the old man's trembling palm. "O Lord !" he began in a fervent voice, "O dear Lord! I got it, Lord th' owd stapil I be ready to come to Thee, an' j'yful j'yful! an' for this mercy, an' benefit received blessed be Thy name. Amen!"
"What about that theer poor, old, rusty stapil?" "Why, it is still above the door, Ancient; you must have seen it this morning." "Oh, ah! I seed it, Peter, I seed it," answered the old man, shifting his gaze to a rolling white cloud above. "I give it a glimp' over, Peter, but what do 'ee think of it?"
"Not so long as a tur'ble vig'rus man, like I be?" he inquired, with a certain wistful appeal in his eyes. "No," I answered impulsively. "I knowed it I knowed it," he chuckled, feebly brandishing his stick, "such a poor old stapil as 'tis, all eat up wi' rust.
''Ere I be, Lord! I'll say. ''Ere I be, thy poor old servant' but oh, Peter! if I could be sure o' that theer old rusty stapil bein' took first, why then I'd go j'yful j'yful, but why theer be that old fule Amos Lord! what a dodderin' old fule 'e be, an' theer be Job, an' Dutton they be comin' to plague me, Peter, I can feel it in my bones.
It be a dark, dark road, but I've got t' owd stapil, an' there be a light beyond the river." So, the Ancient sighed, and crossed the dark River into the Land of Light Eternal. Night, with a rising moon, and over all things a great quietude, a deep, deep silence.
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