126 NOVEMBER IN SROADLAND. 



the same old-time red-brick structure, tinged with the greens and yellows of age. 

 The same honeysuckle or roses trained over the small-paned window, and the 

 martin's nest above the doorway. A tiny flower-garden runs before it to the pal- 

 ings, with a hedge of holly or privet growing parallel. The walls inside are white- 

 washed, and a regiment of little cheap prints and family photographs are hung in 

 anything but a methodical way upon them. They have been tacked on as they 

 turned up. The brick floor is sanded, the fire-place bright with lead and elbow 

 grease. Everything is clean as wax, from the youngsters' ruddy faces, fresh-washed 

 for ( dad ' to kiss them, to the baby's little print dress, for ' Dad's home, yew know ! ' 



The homely repast having come to an end, friend Tungate gets down his long 

 clay pipe, draws from unknown t fob '-depths his sealskin pouch of strong cheap 

 shag, and tempts us to share its contents. The youngsters have each had their 

 hug and kiss, and their mother trots them off to bed but not to slumber yet, for 

 they have some arrears of fun to get over before they fall asleep, when not a 'deen' 

 (sound) will be heard, not even a ' winnock ' (cry) from the baby. Our good man 

 grows chatty as the smoke curls upwards. We may not place on record scarcely 

 one fraction of his yarn, which is of things fishy and of the sea. 



* That in-shorin' of the herrin's is a wonderful thing, 'bor,' so reg'lar, so enor- 

 mous and in course, so welcome. Some say they cum tu spawn ; p'raps they du, 

 but I hev a notion as they cum on the hunt for food as well. What du herrin's eat? 

 Wai, they eat wery small shrimps 'possum shrimps I heerd a gent once call 'em, 

 small sea-wermin, and even the spawn an' young of theer own sort. It's a rare 

 God-send theer cumin'. We fishin' chaps muster up some thousands strong an' 

 man some four or five hundred boats. A fishin' boat, all found, without her nets, 

 costs sufrm' over a thousand pounds, and her nets nearly 'arf as much, So it manes 

 some thousands o' pounds a-rollin', doan't it ? 



* Yow know, at least I s'pose yer du, that a herrin' net's like a wall of meshes, 

 floated a-top with corks, kept straight down with its own weight. A single boat 

 drifts out some hundred an' fifty nets, each thirty yards long, 'leven yards deep 

 some mile an' a 'arf that makes it. We keep an eye on the gulls an' wil-ducks 

 (guillemots) an' the gants (gannets); where they fish we know theer's suflfin'. 

 Shutin' (shooting) our nets at nightfall we hauls them airly in the mornin'. It's a 

 rare sight tu see us haulin' in thousands of silv'ry critters as hev l gilled ' theer- 

 selves a-shovin' tu get clear o' the nets. The more they shove, in course the tighter 

 they get, an' drown theerselves, they du, tu be sure. We got over twenty last a 

 couple o' nights ago, that's, lemme see, how many ? A last is ten thousand; reckin' 



