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Updated: May 27, 2025
Why, I might 'ave been burnt ter death with the fire alight an' me asleep. 'Well, I am sorry, mother; but I went aht just for a bit, an' didn't think you'd wike. An' besides, the fire wasn't alight. 'Garn with yer! I didn't treat my mother like thet. Oh, you've been a bad daughter ter me an' I 'ad more illness carryin' you than with all the other children put togither.
Faith, but the County Cork would suit me completely; a roomy loose-box wid straw litter an' a leak-proof roof. Tubby. Yes, with full meals coming regularly. A bay mare. I've got a two-year-old in Devon I'd like to see again. Monty. I've no quarrel with Leicestershire myself. Gunpack horse. Garn! Wot abaht good old London? Chestnut. Steady, Alf, what are you grousing about?
"I'm Jim Hibbault." "Garn!" "Yes, I am really." Poor Christopher began to feel embarrassed and a little disappointed. He was Jim Hibbault at that moment and he felt queerly lonely and stranded. Martha pulled down her sleeves and went to the inner door. "Jessie, come out 'ere," she screamed. Christopher felt his heart go thump.
She was and had been, ever since she could remember clearly, very lonely, full of longing for companionship so very full of longing that, had he not commanded it, she would not have been, as he was, particular about the social status of the friends she made. M'riar fell back on her haunches with a gasp. "Garn!" she cried. "Garn, Miss! Don't yer dare to beller!"
You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Brother Jonathan started up from his dream of Garn Goch and the Inquisition, to repudiate the imputation of encouragement. 'I was merely glad to find that she knew anything about the Inquisition, and had any information at all in her head; generally speaking, women know so little.
"Garn," growled Barney. "You an' yer luck! Gent may want a mug, but y'd show yer money fust." "Strewth! I've got it. Y' aint got the chinge fer wot I 'ave in me 'and 'ere. 'As 'e, mister?" "Show it," taunted the man, and then turning to Dart. "Yer wants a mug o' cawfee?" "Yes." The girl held out her hand cautiously the piece of gold lying upon its palm. "Look 'ere," she said.
Well, I don't care. He's paid me up till to-night. I'm going to enj'y myself, I am." "Don't you get drunk, Mrs. Kebby, or I'll lock you up." "Garn!" grunted the old beldame. "Wot's Christmas Eve for, if it ain't for folk to enj'y theirselves? Y'are on duty early." "I'm taking the place of a sick comrade, and I'll be on duty all night. That's my Christmas." "Well! well!
'Yah, I wouldn't git a second-'and dress at a pawnbroker's! 'Garn! said Liza indignantly. 'I'll swipe yer over the snitch if yer talk ter me. I got the mayterials in the West Hend, didn't I? And I 'ad it mide up by my Court Dressmiker, so you jolly well dry up, old jellybelly. 'Garn! was the reply.
This was life. From the stall the two wandered to the swing-boats, and towering high above the tawdry glitter of the revel saw through the red mist the Abbey, austere and still, the School House dormitories stretching silent with suspended life, the class-rooms peopled with ghosts. A plank jarred under the boat. "Garn, surely it ain't time to stop yet," wailed Emmie.
His mate, less superstitious and with more common sense, rejoined: "Garn! 'Music o' the spears' be blowed! It's more like a pianer-horgan or a 'urdy-gurdy." The shrimper glided on, and a tramp steamer, going dead slow, just shaved past the musical barge. Its master roared derisively from the bridge: "'Ullo, barge, ahoy! Wot yer got there? Punch and Judy show aboard?"
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