‘On the old spot, brother.’ ‘Any news since we parted?’ ‘Two deaths, brother.’ ‘Who are dead, Jasper?’ ‘Father and mother, brother.’ ‘Where did they die?’ ‘Where they were sent, brother.’ ‘And Mrs. Herne?’ ‘She’s alive, brother.’ ‘Where is she now?’ ‘In Yorkshire, brother.’ ‘What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petulengro?’ said I, as I sat down beside him. ‘My opinion of death, brother, is much the same as that in the old song of Pharaoh, which I have heard my grandam sing— Cana marel o manus chivios andé puv, Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi. When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and his wife and child sorrow over him. If he has neither wife nor child, then his father and mother, I suppose; and if he is quite alone in the world, why, then, he is cast into the earth, and there is an end of the matter.’ ‘And do you think that is the end of a man?’ [Picture: There’s night and day, brother] ‘There’s an end of him, brother, more’s the pity.’ ‘Why do you say so?’ ‘Life is sweet, brother.’ ‘Do you think so?’ ‘Think so!—There’s night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there’s likewise a wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?’ ‘I would wish to die—’ ‘You talk like a gorgio—which is the same as talking like a fool—were you a Rommany Chal you would talk wiser. Wish to die, indeed!—A Rommany Chal would wish to live for ever!’ ‘In sickness, Jasper?’ ‘There’s the sun and stars, brother.’ ‘In blindness, Jasper?’ ‘There’s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I would gladly live for ever. Dosta, we’ll now go to the tents and put on the gloves; and I’ll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be alive, brother!’ CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX THE FLOWER OF THE GRASS—DAYS OF PUGILISM—THE RENDEZVOUS—JEWS—BRUISERS OF ENGLAND—WINTER, SPRING—WELL-EARNED BAYS—THE FIGHT—THE HUGE BLACK CLOUD—A FRAME OF ADAMANT—THE STORM—DUKKERIPENS—THE BAROUCHE—THE RAIN-GUSHES