“I hardly know what it was like, guv’ner,” said Phil, considering.
“How did you know it was the country?”
“On account of the grass, I think. And the swans upon it,” says Phil, after further consideration.
“What were the swans doing on the grass?”
“They was a-eating of it, I expect,” says Phil.
“The country,” says Mr. George, plying his knife and fork; “why, I suppose you never clapped your eyes on the country, Phil?”
“I see the marshes once,” said Phil, contentedly eating his breakfast.
“What marshes?”
“The marshes, commander,” returns Phil.
“Where are they?”