es. Bessie
Trevorrow, the dairymaid, ripe as a pippin, came in, turning down the
sleeves of a bird's-eye print dress over forearms that made Jenny gasp.
She could not reconcile the inconsistencies of feature in Bessie, could
not match the burning almond eyes with the coarse lips, nor see how such
weather-stained cheeks could belong to so white a neck. Last of all came
Old Man Veal, whose duties and status no one rightly knew. The household
individually slid into their separate places along the benches with
sidelong shy greetings to Jenny and May, who for their part would have
sat down with more ease to supper with a flock of sheep. One chair still
remained empty.

"Where's Granfa Champion?" asked Trewhella.

"Oh, my dear life, that old man is always last," grumbled Mrs.
Trewhella. "What a thing 'tis to have ancient old relations as do never
know to come in to a meal. Go find him, boy Thomas," she added with a
sigh.

Thomas was much embarrassed by this order, and a subdued titter ran
round the lower part of the table as Thomas made one of his fruit-like
exits to find Granfa Champion.

"He's my uncle," explained Mrs. Trewhella to Jenny. "A decent old man as
anyone could wish to meet, but most terrible unknowing of the time. I
believe he's so old that time do mean nothing to him. I believe he's
grown to despise it."

"Is he very old?" asked Jenny, for want of anything better to say.

"Well, nobody do know how old he is. There's a difference of twenty
years in the opinions you'll hear put about. Poor old soul, he do give
very little trouble at all. For when the sun do shine, he's all the time
walking up and down the garden, and when 'tis dropping, he do sit in his
room so quiet as a great old lamb."

Here Thomas came back with positive news.

"Mr. Champion can't get his boot off and he's in some frizz about it."

"How can't he get his boot off? How didn't 'ee help him?"

"So I did," said Thomas. "But he wouldn't hear nothing of what I do know
about boots, and kept on all the time telling what a fool I was. I done
my best with 'en."

At this moment Granfa Champion himself appeared, his countenance flushed
with conquest, his eyes shining in a limpid blue, his snow-white hair
like spindrift round his face.

"Come in, you Granfa," his nephew invited.

"Is the maids come?" he asked.

"Ess, ess, here they are sitting down waiting for 'ee."

Mr. Champion advanced with a fine stateliness and nobility of welcome.