OCTOBER IN BROADLAND. Ill 



and make for a rond that is made gay by the blue flowers of the Michaelmas daisy, 

 and fastening the boat, pick our way across the squashy bog, disturbing two or 

 three snipe as we follow a foot-track that winds its sinuous way across to a higher 

 level. This circuitous, swampy footpath has been worn by Jim Trett's 'highlows,' 

 and trends towards the good man's domicile. It must not be thought that we 

 have kept silence, for our friend is irrepressible. 



'Now for a rare treat in the way of food for mind and body/ says he, 'for 

 you'll get both at the fenman's cottage.' 



The wind has lulled considerably now, and streaks of blue intersect the hitherto 

 dull monotony of cloudland ; the rain has held off wonderfully; nothing more than 

 the merest sprinkling has fallen. We sit down awhile to muse and gossip, our 

 friend still unreeling his inexhaustible store of Broadland folk-lore. 



It is early when we enter the fenman's cottage. The old lady gives us a 

 hearty welcome. Mr. Talkative nudges us and whispers that ' the ' old gal ' is an 

 original.' 



' Why, Mr. Thingummy, I ain't seed ye for never, I ain't ! how's all yer fam'ly ?' 

 queries she, as she clasps his fat, freckled hand in her own wrinkled biceps. 



6 Sit ye down a bit, tea's jest riddy, and Jim '11 be in airly tu-day, 'specially 

 as he knows yer cum. Why ! here he cum an' wha's the owd fule a golderin' 

 (laughing) like that for? Why, Jim, it du fare (seem) funny for yow tu hain 

 (lift) yer eyebrows like a big grinnin' mawther (girl). Yow ain't so sadla, 'bor, I 

 kin see, as yow wor when yer went out. Wha's up wi' ye ? ' 



1 Wai, old woman, I jest now seed narber (neighbour) Cubitt a comin' hoam 

 with his owd dickey (donkey). Jest as they reached Loper Grey's it got skeered, 

 and began a-dancin'; wal, off cum a wheel, an' a tub of swill, as he'd gone an' 

 fetched, flew off along with him down went dickey and tub an' Cubitt into a 

 holl (dry ditch) togither. What with dumplin' and grease an' sich like, wal, bor, 

 in all yar born days niver did ye see sich a sight, neither fore nor arter ! ' And 

 the old fellow roars again at the very recollection of it. 



'Take note of the words ! ' says Mr. Talkative, 'for they're rale Broad Nor- 

 folk!' 



It is a pleasant time that we spend over the good folk's tea-table. Jim Trett, 

 having oiled his gun and hung it up, and his frail-basket of game, the aforesaid 

 curlew and lapwing, to which has been added a mallard, and having made himself 

 presentable, sits down beside us. Need we detail the savoury viands presented ? 



