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"No," returned the Ancient, shaking his head, "I've seed 'im all blood from 'ead to foot, an' once a gert, big sailor-man knocked 'im sideways, arter which Jarge got fu'rus-like, an' put 'im to sleep " "No, Peter!" added Simon, "I don't think as there be a man in all England as could knock Black Jarge off 'is pins in a fair, stand-up fight." "Hum!" said I.
Jest reach me my snuff-box out o' my 'ind pocket, an' you shall see me smite they Amalekites 'ip an' thigh." "Gaffer," began Old Amos, saluting us with his usual grin, as he came up, "we be wishful to ax 'ee a question we be wishful to know wheer be Black Jarge, which you 'avin' gone to fetch 'im, an' bring 'im 'ome again them was your words."
Remember, it's them as try to keep us honest fellows from a livelihood, just because we run a few casks of brandy and some French laces without paying anything to King Jarge, bless him!" And Mr. Daddles solemnly took off his hat. "Now, are you ready, boys?" "Yes," we all whispered. "No, no! Not 'yes'," returned Mr.
"Simon!" cried the Ancient, "shut thy mouth, lad hold thy gab an' give thy poor old feyther a chance I be tellin' 'im so fast as I can! As I was a-sayin', Peter like a fur'us lion were Jarge wi' they keepers eight on 'em, Peter like dogs, a-growlin' an' growlin', an' leapin', and worryin' all round 'im ah! like a lion 'e were "
"Prue aren't afeard o' Black Jarge never was," returned Simon; "she can manage un allus could; you'll mind she could allus tame Black Jarge wi' a look, Gaffer." "Ah! she 'm a gran'darter to be proud on, be Prue," nodded the Ancient, "an' proud I be to!" "What," said I, "is she your daughter, Simon?" "Ay, for sure." "And your granddaughter, Ancient?" "Ay, that she be, that she be."
He threw his curly head back and laughed till his sides shook. 'Lor, I didn't think I wor goin to know quite so soon! An sich queer 'arf-crowns, they ses, as she keeps a-changin. Jarge somethin an old cove in a wig. An 'ere they is, I'll be blowed some on 'em. Well, yer a nice un, yer are! He stared her up and down with a kind of admiration. Bessie began to cry feebly the crying of a lost soul.
For weeks before harvest Jarge patrolled my wheatfields, crowds of sparrows rising and dispersing for a time after every shot, only, I fear, to foregather again very soon on another field, perhaps half a mile distant. No doubt he sent some to my neighbours in return for those which they sent to me.
It was a relief to him to have something, however small, which would distract his mind from the events of the night. "That will do, sir," the skipper cried, and, leaning over the bows, he seized the anchor which Ezra had hauled up, and tumbled it with a crash on the deck. "Now, Jarge, with three reefs in her we might give her the mains'le."
"You always were so hale and hearty," I nodded, giving him the usual opening he had waited for. "Ay, so strong as a bull, that I were! like a lion in my youth Black Jarge were nought to me a cart 'orse I were." "Yes," said I, "yes," and stooped my head lower over the feeble old hand.
The little bailiff paused to moisten his lips. From his audience arose feeling murmurs of approval. "Ya known what General Clive ha' done," he resumed. "'Twas all read out o' prent by the crier in corn market. An' the grand folks in Lun'on ha' give him a gowd sword, an' he bin hob-a-nob wi' King Jarge hisself.
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