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One autumn's morning, in the year 1794, while I was playing marbles in a lane called Love Lane, and was in the very act of having a shot at the whole ring with my blood-alley, the shrill notes of a fife, and the hollow sound of a distant drum, struck on my active ear. I stopped my shot, bagged my marbles, and scampered off to see the soldiers.
He reviled Kitty for that action in such overwhelming language that the poor girl fled in tears, and next day it was only with the greatest difficulty that she persuaded him to accept two pears and a blood-alley as a peace offering. Dolf Belman came later with a little comfort. 'Gotter junk o' rosum, he said, fumbling in his school-bag. 'Hoo! have you though? said Parrot Cann. 'Rosum's great.
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