208 ERNIE 



His sobs grow less, and a minute later he 



comes back and stares at me. 



" I got some good water," he informs 

 me. " You ain't got no water, 'ave ee ? " 

 And he toddles away for more. 



He delights in the filthiest old can or 

 bottle. He loves to kneel down and see 

 the water bubbling in. Sometimes it is a 

 " cup of tea " he has got, or a " glass of 

 beer." And always he has " got this one." 



He appears to be wandering about at all 

 hours of the day and night. The life of a 

 recluse in a cottage, remote from ordinary 

 life, has its moments of exaltation, especially 

 in the lovely months of spring and summer, 

 but when the wind sways the leafless trees 

 and whirls the cold rain, it is hard to prevent 

 melancholy. On these occasions I go and 

 have a chat with Ernie's parents, my im- 

 mediate neighbours. Often I find Ernie 

 asleep at the table, with his curls in the 

 empty plate. The little imp has been all 

 day in the water, or on a long tour in his 



