50 MAY IN SROADLAND. 



plate and sundries in the clear waters which float him; then tossing off a mug of 

 something that presumably is tea, although it looks uncommonly like liquid black- 

 ing, from long standing in the teapot with half a spout upon it, he steps back into 

 the ark and invites us inside for a continuance of our confab. 



' This ain't the sort of shanty yew gents are used tu, but they suits us folks 

 as they're built for up to the knocker. I doan't suppose yow'd find theer likes 

 out o' the county. We look up an owd smack's boat, bodge her up a bit, then 

 rig her up with a ruf, an' surroundin's, an' tars 'em an' theer yow are, 'bor as 

 nobby a craft as yow'll find afloat. These 'ere benches as we're sittin' on sarve for 

 bedsteads ; a sack of sweet ' mesh ' hay an' a blanket or tew to tuck yerself in, and 

 I'll s waller my eel-pick if yow'll want much rockin' to find yer sleep in this 'ere 

 strong, pure air of Broadland.' 



4 Yow smile at my jim cracks in the shape of furniture. Wai, it ain't much 

 as we want, 'bor a mug an' a basin or tew, a teapot, a kettle, and a frying-pan, 

 with a knife an' a fork, so we doan't need to eat like Injuns an' what more du 

 yer want ? Let rne rub my sleeve on that bit o' lookin' glass, for it's many a long 

 day as I seed inside it, and the smoke an' the steam ha' kinder dullened it. We're 

 rough an' riddy sort of folks, yer know, and livin' out here a lonesome Robinson 

 Cruzer kind of life wipes all the polish off of us. I doan't hev many wisitors, and 

 a owd man ain't many fancies; an' if folk doan't like it they ain't obliged to stop, 

 not as I means yow, gintlemen.' 



A short clay pipe is found in the deep recesses of one of his waistcoat pockets 

 after much fumbling in its corners. It is harder work so it appears, to find that 

 with which to load it. There is a hungry look in the old man's eye which seems 

 to ask for ''bacca!' We hand him enough to fill his pipe, not once, but often. 

 The deep old fellow thaws yet more, and after incidentally remarking that 'it's 

 a tew-mile row to get a smoke when baccy ha' got to low-water,' he resumes his 

 patter : 



* What's them holey boxes outside for ? Them's eel-trunks. Yow doan't need, 

 in course, to ax me what's my profession, of course yer doan't, for arf an eye's enough 

 to tell it. Boy an' man, like my father afore me, eel-cat chin' an' a few other odd- 

 ments has got me my livin' these fifty yeer an' more, and it's a mod'rate livin' at 

 most. But I get enuf to eat, an' pay my way, keepin' the old woman's cupboard 

 at home well filled and what more du a fellow want, only to be thankful to our 

 hivenly Father as give him strength an' helth tu appreciate 'em. Babbin's mostly 

 my business jest now, and will be till the summer's over an' forgotten, and the eels 

 be makin' for the sea. Then we drop eel-sets in the river tu catch 'em when they're 



