196 ALONGSHORE 



IV 



turn out my bag, an' not afore. If you'd gone 

 where I been, 'long wi' me, you'd know. But 

 you can't go where I goes. You'd tire o'lt, the 

 likes o' you would. You'd get your feet wet." 



' "No offence, me man," says he. 



' "Then don't you go out o' your way to give 

 it for the future," says I. "My sack's my pocket 

 — remember that. T'others have got holes in 'em. 

 I wishes you good afternoon." 



'Lord ! they sort couldn't go where I goes. 

 They an't got it in 'em, not to go twice, an' day 

 after day, if they goes once just for curiosity. 

 'Tis funny how they hates to see the likes o' me 

 carrying a bag they can't look into, they four-meal- 

 a-day soft-sleepers. Thinks I got game or rabbits, 

 I s'pose. Thic day, as't happened, I did hae a 

 young rabbit what I'd picked up down under cliff 

 — failed out an' killed itself. 'Twas just so well 

 for me to hae a dinner off o'en as for the gulls. 

 'Tisn't 's if I wired 'em or trapped 'em. I never 

 does that. I couldn't bear for to kill the poor 

 little things. They enjoys their life so well as 

 you an' me. Hast ever felt it going out warm 

 under thy hands? I have; an' I don't want to no 

 more. Wi' fish 'tis different. They'm cold- 

 blooded. . . . Little bit out 'n' west, you.' 



