Tay!

"I'll go trust Mrs. Maddern for a' ounce, then," threatened Mr. Tonkin.

over the way their bread and butter's | a week, Mrs. Mattheys, they d' cost cat, when they've cut 'nt themselves." me, and nawthen but stinking smoke “Oh you!” said Mr. Tonkin, paying to show for 'nt. Go, do what I tell back an instalment of scorn. "Come, 'ee, go edn' 'ee gwine to fit's a dish o' tay?" "Tay!" returned his wife. Ess, 'tes allers tay wi' you. Drink tay and grummle 'at's all you men be fit for-grummle and drink tay. And to hear 'ee talk about your toil and your hard life! Why edn' 'ee on the say now, arning a liven? Aw ess! we d' kuaw what the auld woman said for the men o' this town! When there's calm they cussn't goo; when there's wind they wussn't goo.'"

"Mrs. Maddern d' knaw better 'an to let 'ee have et, I reckon. There edn' a wife in this town haven't warned Mrs. Maddern agen letten their men trust her. She d' knaw who hold the purses, 'a b'lieve."

"Then I'll go borry 'nt off o' somebody," declared Mr. Tonkin, playing his last card.

"Ess, go disgrace yourself and me After this sarcasm, which every fish- too! Go begging for a haapord o' erman in the village is fated to hear at plug, like a shiftless laverack of a longleast once a day when on shore, Mrs. shoreman! No, we edu' beggars yet," Tonkin, whose treatment of her hus-feeling in her gown for her pocket, band embodies no real ill-feeling, and "though that edn' no fault of yours. must be regarded as part of her scheme Go, take thy money, go." of conjugal duty, relented so far as to add,

Mr. Tonkin received the money and rolled away, generously or politically "Well, shalt have thy tay, a poor-omitting to express any triumph at dear; go, take the jug and g' out for a his victory. cuse o' water; and tell Jimmy to bring "Ah, well!" said Mrs. Tonkin, a stog o' wood and some coals for the" 'tes a bit too bad to makie s'ch a fuss fire."

over thruppence; but that's the only way to trate 'em. Show yourself soft to a man, and ‘Hullo,' 'a says, 'here's a brae fine cushion,' and he up and dabs his great boots upon 'ee to wance. Hard as sparbles a wife should be, or

Come, bustle," admonished his she's a slave."

Mrs. Matthews, who had politely af

Mr. Tonkin cleared his throat ner-fected obliviousness during the last few vously.

"I've used the last o' my baccy," he said in even tones, carefully expressive of indifference to the import of his

statement.

minutes, now recovered to say softly,"But when a man's in trouble, like my John

"Don't 'ee make a mistake, my dear!" cried Mrs. Tonkin vehemently. "You d' smokie all day. Ef you c'd" Show yourself harder 'an ever, scauld smokie and sleepie too, you'd smokie 'en, garm at 'en, stir 'en up, anger 'en, all night!" was Mrs. Tonkin's com- don't let 'en set still and ate his heart ment. "Go, take up the jug and bus-out. 'At's the way."

tle."

66

Evidently Mrs. Matthews did not

Come, Ann, gie us the money," he believe in such drastic treatment, but burst out desperately.

"Money? What money's that?" in well-simulated astonishment.

"For some baccy-there's a good soul."

not being a woman of argument, she only smiled sadly and shook her head.

"What wi' Peter and Jimmy, I ought to knaw what men are like," added Mrs. Tonkin, "and I don't stand "I'll gie 'ee the stick, rather!" — in | no nonsense from they, you may a tone of great ferocity. "Two shillen b'lieve."

VI.

b'lieve. They shaan't say I show fa

As she spoke, Jimmy Tonkin entered | vor, or trate 'ee defferent. with the firing. Having disposed of "No, no," murmured Jimmy, with his load, he did as his father had done the air of a martyr, or a tempted saint. a minute ago - went to the window" I edn' gwine to take et." and gazed out, shifting his feet and clearing his throat uneasily meanwhile. Seeing his pipe in his hand, the lodger guessed what was coming, and awaited the issue with curiosity.

Jimmy has a handsome face and a wheedling tongue, and disdains his father's coarser methods on such occasions as this. He began the attack with a little judicious flattery.

"How's the net gett'n on?" he said. "Why 'tes most finished, ef I d' live! Wonderful quick you be, and no mistake. I doubt ef there's another as quick."

"Take et to wance, I tell 'ee, and be off wi' 'ee," cried Mrs. Tonkin in a pretended rage.

"A good lad, Jimmy, so 'a es," she added when he had gone. "A bit lazy,

and a bit too p'tic'ler over his mate but a good lad."

The lodger caught the eye of Mrs. Matthews. She said nothing, but her wink was eloquent.

When, soon after, she had taken her departure, murmuring something about "getting back to John and little Annie," a long-legged nephew of Mrs. Tonkin slouched in, sat for five minutes in unbroken silence, and slouched

66 Well, I wadn' never 'counted slow, 'at's true," said his mother, with a laugh of flattered modesty. "But out again. He was succeeded by a there's many as good, I've no doubt." "I never seed 'en then," replied Jimmy. "Da gone for a cuse o' water ?"

6

little, dirty-faced boy who asked if "plaize would Mrs. Tonkin lend ma some sugar and a noggin o' paraffin and her best taypot, because ma had quality people from foreign coming to tay, and didn't want the town to be put to shame by a pot athout a spout”. an appeal to Mrs. Tonkin's patriotism which had the desired effect. A breathless dame thrust her head in at the door, screamed something-presumably a piece of news-in unintelli

"Ess. Gone to Mrs. Maddern's for his baccy too, 'a b'lieve?" "Ha, ess. So you give 'en the money, did 'ee ?" Said 'a was gwine to ax 'ee for 'nt. Said to me, 'Jimmy, you're out o' baccy too.' 'Ess,' said I. Then I'll tell the missus to gie me enough for both,' said he. 'No,' said I, when I do want 'n I'll ax for 'n.gible Cornish, and vanished. Mr. I've had two ounces this week,' said I, ' and that's as much as I should. Ma d' think et waste; maybe she's right. I'll just jog on tell Sat'day athout et.' 'Wait tell you see me smoken afore 'ee,' says father. 'There'll be envy in your heart, and wrath in your stummick,' 'a said to me, and you'll be ready to gie the world to touch pipe for a bit, that 'ee will,' 'a said. 'Maybe,' said I, but I edu' gwine to plague ma, ef 'tes only for thruppence. She d' 'ave plagues enough as 'tes,' said

I."

Tonkin and Jimmy returned, rolling in unison, and enveloped in triumphal clouds of smoke. Mrs. Harvey from over the way, having seen through the window Mrs. Tonkin getting out the best teapot, came in under the impression that a meal was preparing. Being undeceived, she made a futile attempt to hide the hunch of bread she had brought to spread with Mrs. Tonkin's butter and dip into Mrs. Tonkin's pekoe, and departed hurriedly. Mrs. Tonkin explained to the lodger that "Mrs. Harvey never lifts her gown

The artful Jimmy made a feint of [pays money] for tay; what she d' retiring to the loft.

mother.

"Here, stop a bit!" called his "Ef your father d' 'ave his baccy, so shall you 'at's only fair, 'a

'ave, she d''ave on the cheap; but she'd scorn to be beholden for bread to a soul." A little proper pride sometimes goes a very long way.

"That's my sister, Jane Polsue, for sure. Now there'll be some hollering and argufying, 'a b'lieve."

Mrs. Polsue's shrill voice was heard exchanging bantering greetings with the men in the loft; and then in she waddled in her market-going array, bonneted, apronless, basket over arm, the upper part of her ample person tightly sheathed in a glossy jacket of imitation sealskin. By the time she had advanced to the middle of the room, it was discovered that she was not alone. Clinging half hidden among her skirts, and swinging to and fro with every movement of her body, was a little girl of six or seven, wonderfully arrayed in a crimson plush frock, a necklace of bright blue beads, pink stockings, and a white straw hat, trimmed with green ribbons.

Come out my 'andsome, and show thyself!" exclaimed Mrs. Polsue, extricating the child from the folds of her gown and pulling it forward. Theer, Aun, what d'ye think o' that? Edn' she fitty? Edn' she rale 'andsome-as smart as a guckoo-fish? She's Lizzie Ellen's little maid, and she's a-gwine wi' Aunt Jane to market to buy some nices - edn' 'ce, my

dear?"

"Eth, 'a b'lieve," lisped the child.

166

I haven't missed a berrin' in this town for twenty yearsummer or winter, cauld or het, dry or wet-and there edn' many can say the same. 'Do unto others as you would that they sh'd do to you,' that's my motty; and I turn et this way, 'Go to other people's berrin's that they may come to yours.'

"Eh-'twould be a wisht berrin', that!" chuckled Mrs. Tonkin.

"You d' knaw my manen, Ann," said Mrs. Polsue placidly. "But I wonder 'ee dedu' go."

"Me? Dicky wadn' no friend o' mine."

"All the more cause for 'ee to go to 's berrin'," said Mrs. Polsue warmly. "Quarrels should end when your foe's in his box."

"Nor he wadn' no foe neither," said Mrs. Tonkin.

"Well, then, you should ha' gone, ef 'twas only for the credit o' the town. I do hate to see a berrin' empty o' folk - not but what there was a brae pillow up to poor Dicky's. I did walk in front along o' Benny-Bath's-wife-Annie'ssister-from- foreign - don't-knaw - thename-of-'en; and I tell 'ee, Ann, when we come to the rope-walk out 'long, and I look behind, and be'old the percession, two and two, stretchen all the way back most as fur 's you c'd see, all in proper black, every mawther's chield of 'em, and then the box and six tall "Well, Ann, and how many nets chaps a-carr'n of en, and then the have 'ee done?" asked Mrs. Polsue, fam'ly haulden their handkerchers — et as Mrs. Tonkin returned from the cup-fair made me shever; and says I, 'tes board with a large slice of saffron cake. a pity a man caan't walk at his own "Well, I reckon this is the fourth berrin'; Dicky 'd be a proud man this this week," replied her sister with con- day, sure 'nough, to see what honor the scious pride. world do hauld him in now he's deed. And we did sing 'Peace in the Valley'

Eth, 'a b'lieve!'" echoed Mrs. Tonkin admiringly. "Hark to the minnam! Eth, 'a b'lieve,' she d' say, as formal as the Mount.1 Set down, my worm, while I get 'ee a cake."

St. Michael's

Mount, type and emblem of antiquity throughout as we did go; 'twas Dicky's favorite,

As quaint, old-fashioned, as West Cornwall.

and when 'a was on his bed 'a said for

6

us to sing et, and sing et we did. That up to the laast. They axed him theer sister to Annie Bath have got a You edu' afraid to die, Dicky?' rare sweet voice-sweet as honey; 'No, no,' 'a said, smiling, 'you but 'a put me out somethen turr'ble, d' knaw I settled all that laast Nofor 'a would sing seconds - said they'd vember month' manen when a' was pitched the key so high she was afraid converted up to the revival. And near she'd scat her voice up top ef 'a should the eend, setten theer, they heerd a sing the tune. And you knaw how 'tes thump, thump,' like a hammer wi' me; I couldn' sing seconds wi' somewhere in the chamber. What's she, nor I couldn' keep the tune wi' that?' said one. 'Twas the heart of the rest, and theer I was, a-wandering 'en beating. Blanche said et put them about in a maze all the while atween in mind as ef 'twas his speerit knockthe two. Ess, my voice was a lost ing to be let out. Just at the last 'a sheep that day, 'a b'lieve. Et put me begun to wander, and thought 'a was a mad, et did, and her a foreigner. little lad again, and talked o' lessons 'Twas a trate to hear her, though." and marbles and axed his mawther for ha'pennies. Et made their hearts sore to heark to 'n. Then he shut his eyes and they thought 'a was gone; but sudden 'a sat up and turned his head to listen, and, said he, Mother, there's Mally Rowe outside, a-caalling.' Mally, you d' knaw, was a little maid they used to caall his sweettard when a lad - been dead these ten year.

"A sweet voice," said Mrs. Tonkin the moralist, "is far above rubies, a possession athout price. Virtuous be'avior waan't gie 't 'ee; riches caan't buy et

"Nor they caan't buy a hump for that matter," Mrs. Polsue interrupted. "Do 'ee talk sense, Aun, and don't prache, and listen to what I'm a tellen 'ee. When the berrin' was over, I Mother,' 'a said, there's Mally walked back wi' poor Dicky's Aunt caalling. Ess, I've done my sums, and Blanche, and she tauld me all about the my spelling, and my lessons, every partic'lars of how he died. Three one, and I'm gwine out to play wi' tokens there were, she did say. First Mally.' And then he falled back, and was when a little maid came in to 'twas all over." play wi' Dicky's young brothers, and she got drawing on a slate. Look, Dicky,' said she, what a pretty thing I've drawed.' Dicky looked. 'Why,' said he, going as white as a wall, 'tes a box

6

"Dear heart!" said Mrs. Tonkin softly, and there was silence for a while.

"What ded Dicky die of?" asked Mrs. Tonkin.

'Well," replied her sister, "he hadn't been what you may call rusky, not for a brae bit of a while. Just afore Christmas he went out cur'l singen, and catched a cauld - nawthen to speak of. So his mawther said, Just you stop indoors for a day, and I'll gie 'ee some moogwort, and you'll be right in a jiffy.' But no; 'a said 'twas nawthen, and 'a went traipsing about singen cur'ls wi' the lads and maids, up to three in the mornen. Then 'a was took bad, and they sent for the doctor. Information o' the lungs was what he called et."

66 a coffin sure 'nough.' And so 'a was, and Dicky the first to name et. Then, on the day 'a was took bad they come down in the morning and found Dicky's watch fallen off the nail on the wall, and the glass scat in pieces; manen, I s'pose, that time was to be o' no more account to him. And the laast token was when Dicky's little brother was setten alone in the kitchen ateing cake, and the door o' the loft opened wide and shut again; and when the lad runned out to see, there wadn' nobody there. 'Tes thought to sinnify the coming into the house o' what no mortal eye has seen." Mrs. Polsue paused for a moment. Mrs. Tonkin. Then she continued,

"Which doctor was that?" asked

"Club doctor, to be sure, Doctor

"The poor chap was sensible nearly Vivian."

b'lieve. And now to turn and scorn and 'buse et-'tes downright fullish, Jane, and I wonder at 'ee."

"Wonder away, my beauty," said Mrs. Polsue flippantly. "Long as you don't try to make me swally your wash, I don't care.'

"Wash!" screamed Mrs. Tonkin, and plainly a quarrel was imminent, when the little girl, who was kneeling on the window seat, looking down the street, began clapping her hands.

"Well, I don't think much o' he." wouldn' be alife and rusky now, 'a "You may well say that, Ann. Why, they axed 'en to gie Dicky some med'cine, but such stuff as 'a gave 'en!a teeny little bottle, 'at dedn' hauld haalf a noggiu-and said for 'em to gie 'n a tayspoonful twice a day. What good could that do 'en? Now ef they'd gone to Doctor Borlase, he'd ha' guv 'em a good quart o' stuff right off, I warrant · and brae 'm strong and nasty stuff too. But this here why, Blanche tasted 'nt, and 'twas like raspberry serrup for flavor. No wonder the poor chap's gone, though his mawther did gie 'n a pint o' moogwort every time wi' the other stuff to make up for 't. 'Ah,' he'd say for the moogwort, that's good; I can feel 'nt all the way down, and taste 'nt for haalf an hour.' But 'twadn' no manner o' use."

"'A should ha' tried helder," said Mrs. Tonkin. "What's moogwort ? No bad tipple for a bit of a cauld, maybe, but et don't go to the stummick like helder. Nawthen beats helder, to my thinken."

"Look, look!" she cried; "big man; thuch a big man! ”

The ladies suspended their dispute, and getting into the line of sight from the window, began to bob their heads from side to side and crane their necks in an effort to get a fair view. The lodger had that morning seen a party of startled cormorants on a rock perform exactly the same antics.

"Tes long Jacob Penelloe and that chatterin' daughter o' his!" exclaimed Mrs. Polsue. "What a size that man is! 'A come a-courten me once, Jacob did; but I wadn' gwine to marr' a

"Aw ess, Ann — we d' all knaw you | chap whose face I couldn' slap athout and your helder," replied Mrs. Polsue getten on the table. Lucky I dedn'; with easy scorn. ""Tes all one to you for ef I'd had that magpie Vassie - be it a toothache or be it a bad leg Penelloe for daughter I'd ha' been or be it the croup, out you come wi' drove mazed afore now. They edn' your helder. Now ef you axed me, I comen in here, I hope, Ann ?” sh'd say camm'ile to wance. twice as infectious."

'Tes

(Let no one accuse Mrs. Polsue of ignorant maltreatment of the English language. All she has done is to take two synonyms and "efficacious " "effective," one of which is clearly superfluous — fuse them together, and give the result an appropriate medical flavor.)

66

'Well, Jane," said Mrs. Tonkin, with real emotion in her voice, “I wonder at 'ee, I do. You d' know we were all brought up on helder. Mawther never gave us nawthen else. I waan't say camm'ile edn' good, nor I waan't say moogwort edn' good for they that's used to 'ut; but helder's our family med'cine, so to spake, and why don't 'ee stick to 'ut? Many 's the noggin of et you've swallied, or you

66 Ess, 'a b'lieve. Jacob's mother's sister marr'd our Aunt Ellen Elizabeth, ef you d' mind; and being a sort o' cousin, 'a mostly drops in when 'a d' come by."

"Then I'm off," declared Mrs. Polsue. "Come, Lizzy, my beauty."

"Wait in the loft for a bit, Jane," said Mrs. Tonkin. 'Being country folk they'll come to the front door, and ef you wait you won't meet 'em."

VIII.

IN fact, at that moment there was a rapping on the front door, and while Mrs. Polsue retired at the back, Mrs. Tonkin bustled out into the entry, and the sound of salutations was heard.

"Aw, ess, to be sure-plaized to be'old 'ee once more. Step inside, my dear. Step inside, Mr. Penelloe, and