Excerpt from Velveteens: A Norfolk Story
Mr. Forbes, head gamekeeper to the Squire of Beckthorp, was just sitting down to his tea in his cosy little lodge by the side of the home wood. It was six o'clock on the evening of the last day in August. The day had been a busy one for Mr. Forbes and his stalwart son, the latter of whom is just giving a finishing touch to his wet hair yonder, as you can see if you peep through the half-open door; while the only daughter, Jean, is serving up hot a rasher of bacon and fried potatoes, which splutters and crackles merrily as she lifts it from the fire.
"Steady, lass, steady," murmurs Mr. Forbes, in a deep bass, as he scrutinizes the appetizing dish, and fears to lose a drop of the fat.
Mr. Forbes had been fetched by the Squire, twenty years back, out of Ayrshire, and he had ever a lowland Scot's eye for thrift.
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