HOW BARNABAS FELL IN WITH A PEDLER OF BOOKS, AND PURCHASED A "PRICELESS WOLLUM"
"Heads up, young master, never say die! and wi' the larks and the throstles a-singing away so inspiring too—Lord love me!"
Barnabas started guiltily, and turning with upflung head, perceived a very small man perched on an adjacent milestone, with a very large pack at his feet, a very large hunk of bread and cheese in his hand, and with a book open upon his knee.
"Listen to that theer lark," said the man, pointing upwards with the knife he held.
"Well?" said Barnabas, a trifle haughtily perhaps.
"There's music for ye; there's j'y. I never hear a lark but it takes me back to London—to Lime'us, to Giles's Rents, down by the River."
"Pray, why?" inquired Barnabas, still a trifle haughtily.
"Because it's so different; there ain't much j'y, no, nor yet music in Giles's Rents, down by the River."
"Rather an unpleasant place!" said Barnabas.
"Unpleasant, young sir. I should say so—the worst place in the world—but listen to that theer blessed lark; there's a woice for ye; there's music with a capital M.; an' I've read as they cooks and eats 'em."