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And if ye does come, I gives ye a mess of eels every week for a year and more'n that. I'll pick yer berries from yer own patch, if ye can't pick them yerself." "Who air a-ailin'?" asked the old woman, crawling out of bed. "Never mind. Come along." It was a strange couple, forging the gorges and gullies, pushing aside the brambles to the lane almost opposite Minister Graves' home.
Now, what's a-ailin' ob you, Bert?" and the colored girl showed by her tone of voice she was not a bit angry, but "chock-full of laugh," as Bert whispered to Harry. But the boys had not caught the bird, had not even seen it, for that matter. Both Bert and Harry were now on the roof in their pajamas.
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