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There's a dictionary, too," he added, rather sadly; "but I can't make her take to that, nohow, though there's a power o' fine words in it." Then, as the other man remained silent and openmouthed, he said: "But I must be goin', Cap'n Nazro, sir! The little un'll be lookin' for me. Good day, sir, and thank ye kindly, all the same as if it was to be, which it ain't!"
'Th' yoong men noo-a-deys, the're poor squashy things the' looke well anoof, but the' woon't wear, the' woon't wear. Theer's ne'er un'll carry his 'ears like that Sir Cris'fer Chuvrell. 'Ull bet ye two pots, said another of the seniors, 'as that yoongster a-walkin' wi' th' parson's wife 'll be Sir Cris'fer's son he fevours him.
"Ay, he've hed nice games in his time here, lads!" said Dave, grinning with pleasure. "I'm straange and glad you've caught him. Many's the time I've sin him chase the fish and tak' down the water-rats. One day he hed howd of a big duck. He got it by its legs as I was going along, and the poor thing quacked and tried to fly, but down it went d'reckly. Big pike like this un'll yeat owt."
"We'll be takin' turns at she and the seal," said Toby. "You'll be haulin' the one you likes to haul best, and I'll be haulin' the other. But I thinks this un'll be easier to haul than the seal. She'll be slippin' over the ice wonderful easy. We'll be lashin' the outfit on the sticks across the oar blades on the other end. 'Twill be light. We hasn't much of un to take.
"You've only One against you." "Perhaps," she admitted. "But the One's a caution." "A good big un'll always beat a good little un," said the fat man. "Besides, he's a baby," replied the girl. "Chances his fences too much." "Sprawls a bit," admitted the other. "But he jumps so big it doesn't make much odds. And he gets away like a deer." Joses was now very much alert; and he had to be.
But, look here, you aren't keen on getting the prize. Why not send in only the one verse? It makes a fairly decent poem. 'Hum! Think the Old 'Un'll pass it? 'He'll have to. There's nothing in the rules about length. Here it is if you want it. 'Thanks. I suppose it'll be all right? So long! I must be off. The Headmaster, known to the world as the Rev.
"But Oi don't want un buried," whined Blob. "Oi be goin to keep un agin the fifth o Novambur guy for Bloub!" "You're going to do no such thing, you disgusting little beast. You'll get your tuppence, and you don't deserve that." "Ah," said Blob cunningly, "this un'll be worth a little better'n tuppence surely. You knaw who he be, Maaster Sir?" "Who then?"
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