124: CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



the sort of farm young "What's 'is name was want- 

 ing that 'ou'd just suit him, wouldn't it?" 



""Well, what is his name," returned the other 

 voice, uninquiringly again, and never looking up. 



"Why young oh! what is his name I shall 

 forget my own soon " (a grunt from the fire-place) 

 " young Leejohn, you know him? You don't 

 mean to say you do n't know him ? " 



"I didn't say I didn't," answered Mr. Bowles 

 with provoking gravity of iteration, bent upon giv- 

 ing the smallest modicum of intellect to any thing 

 else till he had finished his " leader : " which having 

 just accomplished he starts up, lets go the hobs, and 

 parting his coat-tails, turns round, and again takes 

 possession of the fire indescribably and waking 

 up to the subject, asks, 



" But how can he take it : you said 101. to the 

 acre did n't you ? He has n't the money. ('Legion ' 

 indeed!)" 



4 "ord bleshye?" 



Added to a toss up of the chin out of the cravat, 

 to give emphasis to the middle word, this invocation 

 conveyed all the answer that was heard, to the diffi- 

 culty started by Mr. Bowles. "What the exact 

 meaning was that lay wrapt up in the blessing 

 whether it was peremptorily favorable to young 



