44 APRIL IN SROADLAND. 



' So yow like my little cabin ; wal, 'bor, there's many a wus box 'an this to 

 sleep in, leastways, I sleep, and my mate he snores fit to bust up the hatchways. 

 We're bachelors here, my mate an' me, you know, for his'n old woman lives up in 

 the town, and mine's fixed up in the \ 7 illage seven mile from here. We've got all 

 the odds an' ends for cookin' an' comfort as we want. Jim ken make a puddin' or 

 a dumplin' leastways he makes pretence at 'em, an' if you ken call a ball of wax 

 inside, kivered with a inch of sloppiness, he ken make 'em, an' no mistake. An' 

 what duke cud lie snugger 'an we do at night-time on these ere benches, with 

 proper toggeries to make 'em soft an' keep us warm ? 



'An' my tea ain't bad, 'bor, for the leaves wor left in from Monday, and this is 

 Friday. Stop a minnit, let me take that bit of 'baccy off as is floatin' in yer cup ; 

 I'spect that's an old quid as dropped off the mantel-shelf! Now I'll just put the 

 pot aside on the hob for ' Smiler,' that's my mate, yow know. An' now for a pipe 

 o' baccy afore yow go, 'bor.' 



A friendly gossip follows, in which the birds and beasties, and various items 

 that delight a Broadland Naturalist are discussed with mutual relish, but which 

 space forbids to detail. Two hours later Boxer is munching his hay in the stable 

 at home, and a savoury bloater, fresh down from the ' loves,' is engrossing our own 

 attentions. 



