WHERE GRASS IS GREEN. 159 



" You're here, then," my very wide-awake young 

 friend Tommy remarks, as I reach what he calls 

 his fishing-place, a weir on the river where he 

 has a trap for catching eels. " Why didn't ye cum 

 afore ? them black and white drummers don't rattle 

 away in the poplars now same as they did a while 

 back. Their drummin' time is over, I reckon ; no, 

 not quite, there's one at it now. If we get in the 

 boat-house and hide, you'll perhaps see him with 

 your glasses. Them old poplars is half rotted; 

 them black an' white places is funkies, musheroom 

 things, an' holes." 



" I wish I could see it, Tommy I can hear it 

 well enough." 



" I could ha' had a cock-bird fur ye last week. 

 But bide up here side o' me a bit. Old Poll Nine- 

 eyes wunt be lookin' after me agin fur a good bit, 

 fear o' another eel crawlin' up her jessymine, an' 

 gettin' in her best room." 



" What nonsense have you got in your mind now, 

 boy ? " 



"Well, you see she's bin a bitter weed tu me. 

 They do say as she was crossed in love when she 

 was young long time that ago, I reckins ; and 



