the side of the house farthest from the parallel lines. Beyond that again was kitchen. This is the mode of ingress the open bay, flecked with white by the and egress of which the world mostly north-easter, and the great flapping avails itself the front door being re- brown sails of Devonshire trawlers served for gentry, beggars, and "for- lying at anchor off the harbor mouth. eigners" generally. Now and then a jackdaw flew from his post among the chimneys, and hovered over a heap of offal in a corner. Pied wagtails fought and chippered along the roofs, and gulls traced complicated curves and reticulations against the sky.

II.

and cut-flowed past the window, bound for an afternoon and evening of mingled business and pleasure in the streets of the neighboring town. Mrs. Tonkin was in her element. She had fastened her net by a loop to a nail in the frame of the little window aforementioned, so that she could observe and comment at her ease without hindrance to her work. With her fingers busy about the net, she kept an easy flow of commingled criticism, anecdote, and moral reflection, while the lodger listened and wondered.

Now one winter afternoon, Mrs. Tonkin was in the kitchen "beating" -mending nets, that is while her friendly lodger sat by the fireside, keeping her company and filling the It was market day; and a continuous netting-needles with twine as she re-stream of womankind—young in gay quired them. The men - Peter the hats and dresses, approximating more father, and Jimmy the son lately or less to the latest fashions, old in home from sea, were in the loft mend- bonnets and gowns of more sober stuff ing the belly of the Petrel's trawl. Outside, on the Green, and by the railings of the harbor wall, some twenty or thirty fishermen were idling. Some leaned over the low railings, doubled up into impossible postures; the rest were performing a manoeuvre curious to behold. They were in little groups of five or six, huddled together confusedly, chin on shoulder, as men might stand in a crowd. But instead of standing still, they were walking up and down with little short steps, four or five paces each way, jostling, shuffling, treading on one another's heels "Theer's Patience Ann James, gwine every time they turned. Sometimes he to market in her shawl, athout a bonwho held the ear of a group would net, ef I d' live! Well, I sh'd be reach an impressive point in his argu- 'sha-amed! Sarah Tregurtha — a hard ment at the critical moment; and then, woman -d' keep a shop out 'long instead of turning with the rest, hed' gie long credit, and then, when would walk backwards in front of them, you're as bare o' money as a toad is o' fugleman-wise, gazing earnestly into feathers, 'tes, 'Down wi' your cash ’ their faces, and beating his palm with wi' she, or the law shall make 'ee,' an emphatic finger. Now and then a They do say there's ill wishes flyen market-cart came clattering along the about Sarah's ears. I wouldn' be she, street at break-neck speed, the driver not for a thousand pound and a satin standing with legs wide apart (your gownd. Better a blow downright 'an Cornish Jehu disdains to sit); and then a wish 'at d' come like a thief in the the conferences were seen to break up, night, and you caan't tell how nor and the groups scatter wildly; while when. Look at poor Martha Trier, mothers rushed screaming from their lives down to quay. They do say Job doors and snatched unconscious infants Trier, afore 'a marr'd Martha, went from the brink of destruction, and a courten another maid, and they fell chorus of objurgations from all sides out, and Job wouldn' ha' nawthen to pursued the retreating vehicle. do wi' she, but marr'd Martha, being Over the harbor wall there was a his cousin. So the other maid wished glimpse of the still, blue pool, and the agen Martha-wished her all manner boats riding in it, drawn up in long o' things. And Martha's two sons

6

A

were born big-headed [witless] and | women !" exclaimed Mr. Tonkin, big-headed they've growed up." thrusting a red face in at the door.. They be'old the nose of a conger, and they cry Say-sarpent!' to wance. chap caan't breathe in this town athout breaking haalf the commandments ef you hark to what the women d' say."

The lodger, though not unaccustomed to hear similar tales, found this one too much for him, with its ghastly inference. He ventured to protest.

"Well, 'tes well known that when you're converted you mustn' sing songs nor whistle, as ef you were a' ordinary

"Well, 'at's what they d' say," Mrs. Tonkin replied, with her usual cautious formula in reference to things supernatural; “'at's what they d' say, and 'at's what Martha herself d' b'lieve, as | Christian, so to spake," said Mrs. Tonshe's tauld me often."

"I wonder she doesn't retaliate," said the lodger.

"Plaize ?"

"Hasn't she tried to pay the woman back in her own coin ?"

kin.

"Hauld tongue! the lad's all right. You d' knaw how 'tes. Your heart may put off ets evil and be chucked full o' holiness, long afore your lips do forget their wicked ways. Jimmy "I don't doubt et. I don't doubt Green's thoughts edn' whistlen, you she's done her best, poor dear; but 'a | may be sure—only the mouth of 'en. be a poor wake crater-couldn' for the | So don't 'ee go taking away his char'clife of 'en wish agen a soul strong ter." So saying, Mr. Tonkin disap'nough to raise a wart on the finger of peared abruptly. 'en. Poor soul, when her second was born, and the doctor tauld her 'twould surely be like the first, a' wouldn' b'lieve en. 'No,' she'd say, 'the Lord wouldn' let her manen the other one "a wouldn' let her go so fur; I'm sure 'a wouldn'; nor she wouldn' be so hard on me as to wish et,' said Martha. And she did go about for a long time, tellen us o' the clever things the poor chield did, and how 'a was sure the wits of en was sproutenay, 'twas a long time afore she give up hope, poor dear beauty!

"Eh-h! there's them maids o' Long Sam's in new gowns, as smart as paycocks, gwine out to catch the chaps. That's along o' Sam's luck wi' the fish this winter. There'll be a thousand herring on aich o' them maids' backs, | I've no doubt.

"I edn," said Mrs. Tonkin. "I edn'; but 'a should be more careful. Ef 'a was whistlen athout manen etand I don't say 'a wadn'—et mayn't be no harm to spake of, simminly; but 'tes a sign o' the wakeness o' the flesh.

"There d' go young Benny Dick."

;

The lodger, though foreseeing that the witticism would be wasted on Mrs. Tonkin, could not refrain from asking if Benny Dick was a married man. "Ess, to be sure," she replied; married man, poor chap—marr'd last year marr'd a woman from thought to do a clever thing, the fullish crater. Down here, sir, we don't like our people to marr' out o' the town; and these folk are worse 'an most foreigners a passel o' roguish, redhaired Danes. 'Why ded 'ee marr' 'en?' said one to Benny. Why,' said Benny, I'll tell 'ee. You'd knaw,' said he, how yon people do stutter, every man Jack of 'em' (and that's so, you caan't hardly make out what they d' say). Well,' said Benny, 'I had to marr' somebody, and I wanted a peaceful home, and I thoft a wife with a 'pediment in her spache 'ud be just "Well, 'a 've just gone in 'long, the thing. So I went and picked out whistlen like a heathen. Edn' back-the maid 'at stuttered worst o' the slidden, is he?” whole bunch,' said Benny. Well, week "Now, ef that edn' just like the after they were marr'd, Benny thought

"There d' go young Jimmy Green, whistlen. Why, Peter!"-calling to her husband outside. "Peter, I say!" "Well there, what es 't?" came from behind the door.

“Wadn' Jimmy Green converted up chap'l last revival?” "Ess, sure."

6

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to try her. 'A waited till Sat'day come, | seasons, without necessity, and apparand she'd claned the floor, and then 'a ently from sheer delight in the act. come up from the boat with his say- They are reluctant to quit a neighbor's boots on, all mud and muck and wet laaken, and 'a marched into the kitchen, and stands there afore the fire as bauld as ye plaize. Presently she come down auver steers, and 'twas as good as a play to see her stand theer scaulden aud profanen somethen dreadful, I've no doubt, inwardly, but not a word could she coax through her teeth. Benny, he laughed, thinken he's master now, sure 'nough, when down she falls in a fit. They runned for the doctor. Doctor took Benny aside. Take care how you d' anger your wife,' said he.

You see,' said the doctor, 'spache to a woman is like the hole in the top of a pot―lets off the steam when 'a do bile up; but stop the hole, and there's a' accident. I waan't say more 'an this,' said he, et may be as bad as murder ef you d' anger your wife; so take care.' And ever sence then, the poor chap caan't call his soul his own."

III.

BREAKING off the report of Mrs. Tonkin's discourse at this remarkable anecdote, a pause is made to explain that even the brief specimen just given was not without its interruptions. It is seldom indeed that the kitchen remains empty of visitors for ten minutes at a time-least of all on market day, when all the world is abroad. Various reasons contribute to make it one of the chief places of resort in the village, ranking equal at least with the grocer's shop, the bakehouse, and the "short" or well. Its central position has something to do with this. Then its mistress is generally popular, as a sensible, good-tempered woman, with a large fund of available sympathy for friends in trouble, a good listener, a good talker, and, above all, one of whom it has been said that no woman is easier to borrow from. The habit of borrowing, like the kindred habit of running into debt, has a peculiar fascinatiou for these irresponsible folk; and in some cases it develops into a positive mania, its victims borrowing at all times and

house without carrying off some spoil or other; if the frying-pan they come to claim is in use, or has already been lent, then a pinch of saffron, a spoonful of yeast, or last week's newspaper will serve their need just as well. Several of them are in the habit of sponging regularly on Mrs. Tonkin, coming daily and seldom going empty away. She submits with great good-humor, regarding it as a neighborly duty, and merely contenting herself, when the raiders have departed, with shaking her head and remarking that "they that go a-borrowing go a-sorrowing."

Then she is reputed to spend less time than any living woman in "coozing," or gadding about on gossiping tours. Naturally, visitors are more frequent at a house where the mistress is actually as often to be found at home as not. Moreover, when one of the newsmongers - and there are twenty dames in the village who benevolently give up their whole time to the business, resolutely sacrificing their own trivial household affairs to the good of the community- when one of these has a special bit of information to circulate - —a death, a ghost, a pretty scandal, or what not-she will not have been half an hour about it before she reflects:

"There's that poor Mrs. Tonkin; she never do g' out-s'ch a workish woman as 'a es; 'twill be a kindness to go tell her to wance."

Then, if you remember that Mrs. Tonkin is second cousin at least to half the village, and that every relation passing the door is by duty bound to look in and chat; if to relations, borrowers, and newsmongers, you add her immediate neighbors, who are in and out of the house all day, as well as people on business and casual visitors from other villages, you will begin to realize to what a formidable length a bare list of her daily callers would extend. To chronicle in detail all the visits of the afternoon would be tedious; it will suffice to select two or three

of the most remarkable as specimens, | for 'a mostly gets a dolly or a mug up and pass over the rest in silence or Plymouth for 'en. And John he with briefest mention.

IV.

ONE of the earliest visitors was Mrs. Tonkin's next door neighbor and special crony, Mary Ann Matthews, a tall, grey-haired woman with a worn, sweet face and a soft, pleasing voice. She wore her shawl over a peaked cloth cap, and had her knitting in her hands. The two women exchanged greetings in the peculiar recitative which is used in salutation and in question and answer, and gives the most commonplace talk the charm of music. In fact, it is a musical phrase, sung rather than spoken, beginning on a low note, rising a fifth to the emphatic word, and then dropping by semi-tones.

"Well my dear, edn' gwine market then?"

"No, Mrs. Tonkin, my dear. Maister's just come home from Plymouth. You edn' gwine neither?"

"No; must finish this plaguy old net ef I d' live. What ded 'ee fit for denner to-day, Mrs. Mattheys?"

“Oh, just cabb'ge soup and ling and tates. What was yours?"

"Oh, hadn' time to fit nawthen proper. Us just had 'Sat'day's denner —catch 'em and take 'em,' as they d' saya bit here and a bit there. So John Mattheys is back?"

looked up, and stroked her hair, and said, 'Just a fine cargo o' torn nets and twenty pounds worth o' debts, my dear. Edn' that brave?' said he. Well, I wadn' what you may caall joyful, you may be sure, but with he that bitter 'twouldn' never do for me to gie in; so said I, 'Never mind, Annie, my dear; da's brought hisself home safe and sound, so us waan't mind the nets, nor yet the debts,' said I."

66

Sure, right 'nough!" said Mrs. Tonkin, with a world of sympathy in her voice. "Nets nor yet debts," she repeated, approving sentiment and jingle alike. "Tes queer how the luck do run. Et do come and go like wind and tide. Some do swim in 't-some don't never get a taste of 'nt."

-

"John did try to get Lucky Harry on our boat laast season," said Mrs. Matthews; "offered 'en haalf captain's share if 'a would come; but 'a said no - said 'a wouldn' sail with a captain whose hair was red-doubted ef his luck 'ud hauld in that case. And I'm sure my John edn' what you may caall red-haired azackly — yally, I caall 'nt." "You're right, my dear," said Mrs. Tonkin, with conviction; "yally 'a es just the color of oranges, and that's a lovely color. But as for Lucky Harry, I wouldn' ha' nawthen to do wi' en, ef I was cap'en. Luck like his not in a great rogue like he. I d' want to knaw where et do come from and what price 'a do pay for 'nt."

-

"Ess, 'a b'lieve come back this edn' nat'ral morning."

"Any luck wi' the fish?"

"No. Not a herring all the while

terr'ble bad luck. 'A should ha' come

"Well," said Mrs. Matthews, lower

about a great tall man in black, people see round Harry's door after dark. But 'tes all nonsense, 'a b'lieve," she added, glancing towards the lodger.

back full three weeks ago; but you d'ing her voice, "they do say somethen knaw how 'tes; crew say, 'Let's stop on a bit longer-maybe the luck 'll turn; and so they stop and run the debts up till salesman waan't lend another farthing, and back they come "So 'a es, my dear," assented Mrs. worse off 'an they did start. Poor Tonkin reassuringly. "But I wasn't John; I knawed how 'twas, minute I set never have 'en on my boat. 'Tes well eyes on 'm. Wet laaken and tumblen known how they that d' 'ave 'en do tired 'a was; and 'a never said a word, pay for 'nt after. Running after luck but just dropped in a cheer and sat. edn' the way to catch 'en. Look at And little Annie, she runned up and Betty Trevean; ef a woman could be jumped on his knee, and said, 'What'st lucky by trying, 'twould be she. Why, brought home for ma and me, da?'-'twas only laast week she comed in VOL. VI. 274

LIVING AGE.

here and axed to borry my bottle o' giant cement I use to mendie dishes and cups wi'. 'What have 'ee scat, Betty?' said I. Edn' scat nawthen,' said she. 'Then wherefore com'st thou a-borryen ?' said I. 'I'll tell 'ee,' said she. 'When I come down this mornen,' said Betty, 'I found a snail on my windy.' "At's a good thing,'" They're a puzzle! Caan't liv a man said I