CHAPTER IV.
Still lingering in the quiet paths.
All the Year Round.
After a good deal of pleasantry, Dennis got rid of his oysters; and, as the storm was still raging without, he called for a glass, just, as he said, "to keep the damp away from the spark in his heart, more by token that he had no other fire to dry his clothes at. But, begorra, for the matter o' that," said he, "they're not worth a grate-full o' coals. Look at my trousers. They're on the varge o' superannuation; an' they'll require a substitute before long, or else, I'm thinking, they'll not combine daycently. How an' ever, gintlemen," continued he, "here's hopin' the fruition of your purses may never fail ye, nor health to consign their contents to utility. An' neaw," said he, lighting his pipe, and putting the empty basket on his head like a cowl, "I must go, if the rain comes in pailfuls, for I'm not over well; an' if I could get home wud wishin', I'd be in bed by the time ye'd say 'trap-sticks!' But dramin' an' schamin's neither ridin' nor flyin', so I'll be trampin', for there's no more use in wishin' than there would be in a doctor feelin' a man's pulse through a hole in a wall wid the end of a kitchen poker. An' neaw, I'll be proud if any gintleman will oblige me by coming a couple o' mile an the road, to see the way I'll spin over the greawnd.... Ye'd rather not? Well; fun an' fine weather's not always together, so good bye, an' long life to yees!" and away went Dennis through the rain towards Fleetwood.
Waiting for the shower to abate, I sat a while; and, as one of the company had been to a funeral, it led to a conversation about benefit societies; in relation to which, one person said he decidedly objected to funeral benefits being allowed to people who had died by their own hands, because it would encourage others to commit suicide. From this we glided to the subject of consecrated ground; and a question arose respecting a man who had been accidentally buried partly in consecrated and partly in unconsecrated ground,—as to what result would ensue from that mistake to the poor corpse in the end of all. The doubt was as to whose influence the unconsecrated half came under. The dispute ran high, without anybody making the subject clearer, so I came away before the shower was over.
Next day I went to Blackpool; and, while awaiting at the station the arrival of a friend of mine, I recognised the familiar face of an old woman whom I had known in better days. Tall and thin, with a head as white as a moss-crop, she was still active, and remarkably clean and neat in appearance. Her countenance, though naturally melancholy, had still a spice of the shrew in it. "Eh," said she, "I'm glad to see you. It's seldom I have a chance of meeting an old face now, for I'm seldom out." She then told me she had been two years and a half housekeeper to a decrepid old gentleman and his two maiden sisters, in a neighbouring town. "But," said she, "I'm going to leave. You see I've got into years; and, though I'm active—thank God—yet, I'm often ill; and people don't like to be troubled with servants that are ill, you know. So I'm forced to work on, ill or well; for I'm but a lone woman, with no friends to help me, but my son, and he's been a long time in Canada, and I haven't heard from him this three years. I look out for th' postman day by day,—but nothing comes. Sometimes I think he's dead. But the Lord knows. It's like to trouble one, you're sure. It's hard work, with one thing and another, very; for I 'have to scratch before I can peck,' as th' saying is, and shall to th' end o' my day, now. But if you can hear of anything likely, I wish you would let me know,—for leave yonder I will. I wouldn't stop if they'd hang my hair wi' diamonds,—I wouldn't indeed. I've said it, an' signed it,—so there's an end. But what, they'll never ask me to stop, I doubt. It's very hard. You see I have to keep my son's little boy in a neighbour's house,—this is him,—and that eats up nearly all my bit o' wage; and where's my clothing to come from? But, don't you see, yon people are greedy to a degree. Lord bless you! They'd skin three devils for one hide,—they would for sure. See yo; one day—(here she whispered something which I didn't exactly catch)—they did indeed! As Missis Dixon said, when I met her in Friargate, on Monday forenoon, 'It was a nasty, dirty trick!' But I've had my fill, an' I shall sing 'Oh, be joyful' when my time's up. I shall be glad to get to my own country again,—yes, if I have to beg my bread. See; they're actually afraid of me going out o'th house for fear I should talk about them to th' neighbours. Bless you, they judge everybody by theirselves. But I'd scorn the action! It is just as Missis Smith said, 'They're frightened o'th world being done before they've done wi' th' world,'—they are for sure. Such gripin', grindin' ways! They'll never prosper,—never." "And is this your grandson?" said I. "Yes; an' he's a wonderful child for his age. He's such a memory. His father was just same. I often think he'd make a rare 'torney, he remembers things so, and he has such queer sayings. I've taught him many a piece off by heart. Come, George, say that little piece for this gentleman. Take your fingers out of your mouth. Come now." The lad looked a minute, and then rattled out,—
Said Aaron to Moses, aw'll swap tho noses:—
"Oh, for shame," said she; "not that." But he went on,—