FEBRUARY IN RROADLAND. 23 



time goes on, in eel-sets, when they begin tu run (make for the sea). Now an' 

 agin a job's tu be had a-rowin' gents out a-pikin', or helpin' 'em in the warmer 

 weather among the roach an' bream. Takin' all these things intu consideration, 

 with catchin' moles, and havin' an eye to the cattle on the marshes, and another 

 on the old pump-mills, time gets filled in all yeer round. There's a pig in the sty 

 tu help with the rent, eggs from the chickens ain't all loss, and gatherin' mush- 

 rumes pays for 'bacca. This ain't bad 'bacca yow've got here, sir, nohow!' 



' Times is altered I was tellin' yow. Why, when I wor a boy, and the Broads 

 wor freer than they are tu-day, and theer warn't no ' close seasons ' for bards and 

 theer was bards then, let me tell yer, I ha' known my father tu kill twenty mallard 

 an' duck in a mornin'. There was ruffs an' reeves as used to nest hereabouts 

 these we snared, and allus had a riddy market for 'em. Plovers' eggs cud be gath- 

 ered by the peck ; that's all dun with. A hatful takes a mornin' now tu git. Where 

 are the bards gone ? Why, theer ain't the bards there was. Du it stand tu reason 

 theer can be when in 1821 my dad took a hundred an 1 sixty dozen eggs in one 

 season ? And that was only a sample of plenty more. These eggs, let me tell yow 

 was reeves', snipes', pewits', redlegs' (redshanks), and a fair dose of coots' an' moor- 

 hens' mixed in among 'em. In course they ' killed the goose as lays the golden 

 eggs,' so tu spake; but there ain't the 'commadation for the bards, 'bor, now if 

 they'd cum, for everywhere's all drained an' cultiwated. In winter my father cud 

 pretty well keep us with the fowl he knocked over with that old flintlock an' the 

 wegetables as he'd grown in the garden-patch. I get a few birds, as yow see, but 

 it's a sort of favour as I'm allowed to shoot, for that sort of thing's done for pretty 

 well among us fenfolk. Theer's licenses tu git, and the rich 'uns ha' got it all theer 

 own way, and on the Broads the rights of owners so-called are more enforced.' 



. Dinner over we make for the Broad, taking a peep in the ' outhouse ' on our 

 way, wherein are stored his various scythes, his reedhooks, traps, and other imple- 

 ments; herein the fowls all roost at night, and drop in at leisure in the daytime, 

 as occasion for laying prompts them. The pig hard by gives a squeal of recogni- 

 tion, and the ferrets in the corner rattle at the wires for a rat for dinner. We 

 shove off from the little staith he to resume his business among the reeds, our 

 purpose being a row round upon the silent waters. We leave him pushing his 

 old punt into the crackling mass, hands encased in l dannocks ' (leather gloves), 

 sickle in one, and reedhook in the other. With this latter instrument he brings to 

 book the straggling stems. 



We have a peep into the pike-fishers' boat. They have secured some half-a- 

 dozen fish, one huge fellow weighing at least a stone. Gulls are winging to and 



