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At the convent of Marchiennes, considered by contemporaries the most beautiful abbey in all the Netherlands, they halted to sing the ten commandments in Marot's verse. Hardly had the vast chorus finished the precept against graven images; Taiiler ne to feras imaige De quelque chose que ce soit, Sy bonneur luy fail on hommaige, Bon Dieu jalousie en recoit,
I do like to see 'em go off in their broom of a evenin'. Mykes the 'ouse look a bit classy, I think, but Aunt says they're living in sin an' she down't feel 'appy about it. But wot I sy is, wot's it matter so long as they pys their rent reg'lar an' down't go an' myke no fuss. They couldn't be less trouble.
Cuckoo flamed at him. "She is, she is," she cried vehemently, all her passion trying to find a vent in the words. "You shan't have her, you shan't have her, you shan't if " "Neow, neow; I ain't sying nothink ag'in 'er," he interposed. "She's a pretty dawg, a very pretty dawg. 'Ow much do yer sy, lydy?" Cuckoo sickened. She looked away. She could not have met the eyes of Jessie at that moment.
Further conversation was interrupted by the avalanche of boys which came tumbling down the front stairs, as Tom, Dick, and Harry shouted in a sort of chorus, "Sy, my balloon has got away; lend us a hand at catching him!" "Sy, I want a lot of paste made, right off." "Sy, I've split my jacket down the back; come sew me up, there's a dear!"
'I am 'appy, she said to Liza one day a few weeks after her marriage. 'You dunno wot a good sort 'Arry is. 'E's just a darlin', an' there's no mistikin' it. I don't care wot other people sy, but wot I says is, there's nothin' like marriage. Never a cross word passes his lips, an' mother 'as all 'er meals with us an' 'e says all the better.
At last he turned round to the people who were following and said: 'Na then, wot d'you want 'ere? You jolly well clear, or I'll give some of you somethin'! They were mostly boys and women, and at his words they shrank back. ''E's afraid ter sy anythin' ter me, jeered Mrs. Blakeston. ''E's a beauty! Jim entered his house, and she followed him till they came up into their room.
That is, I won't rag you any more, if you'll tell me one thing oh, what a whopper of a sigh! Promise me you'll pay Dicky off." "All right. I'll pay him." "To-morrow?" "To-morrow, then. Don't, Poppy. I I've got a sore throat." For Poppy, standing on tip-toe, had made an effort to embrace him. "I sy, if you blush like that, Rickets, you'll have a fit. Poor dear!
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