“Darlint” ses I “all the torchures of the dummed could not unlock me lips. Your sacred swatehart is secure in me bussum.” Wid that she guv me a kiss, and wint steeling out agin. “Mr. John” ses I, this marning while hes ating his loan brikfust (a cup of biling water) I’m looking for sartin infamation. “Well fire away Delia” ses he still absarbed in his paper. “If a lady” ses I “was to kiss a gintleman wid hoom she was not acquinted wud the gintleman be insoolted?” He put down his paper, tuk off his glarses and looked at me sollemly. “Has some wan kissed _you_ Delia?” ses he. “My God, no sir” ses I, “but I’m studying the respectful sects.” He retired behind his paper agin, and Mr. James cum wistling into the room. Hes very cheerful these days is Mr. Jimmy. He gets app, he ses, at 5 A.M. in the morning to cut the lons. The tax he ses at that wiching our is anchanting. Ivery marning when we get up we see a porshon of the lon cut. At 8 Mr. James sonters in frish from his after cutting lon bath as he calls it. “Sum day” ses Mr. John who has his trubbles digging up the airth where the vigitibles are to go “I’ll try your skeem.” “Don’t” ses Mr. James anxshissly. “What applies to lons may not do for gardins.” Well this marning, Mr. John repeats me quistion to his brother. “Delia” ses he “wants to know how a man wud feel if suddintly assolted and amberaced by a yung and pretty lady—of coorse shes yung and pretty, Delia eh?” ses he. “What wud he do!” ses Mr. James. “Lord God of Isreel why he’d—he’d pursoo her like a caveman till she guv anuther kiss.” “My God!” ses I drapping the dishes in me hand, “and wimmen is jest alike.” I wint down to me kitchen, whare I guv a peece of me mind to the grocer’s man. Shure he do be after charging the Wolleys the most oonherd of prices for the food, and whin I’m after making a complaint in the madam’s name, the raskill opp and offers me a boniss. “And what is that?” ses I. “Tin per sint” ses he. “Its the custom on the Poynt amang the cooks to accipt a boniss fram the tradesmen. We tak it out of the peeple thimsilves” ses he, “eyther in wate or price.” “Is it a thafe ye’d mak me?” ses I, faulding me arms over me chist. “thin ye may thank yere stars” ses I “that Miss Claire is too angaged to be interrupted at the prisint moment, for its she hersilf wud be showing you the dure. As it is I take the tax upon mesilf.” Wid that I saysed hauld of the broom, and drove the craychure out. I seen Miss Claire joomp oop from whare shes digging at her floury hidge, and as the thafe wint flying down the parth, wid me at his heels, both she and the dood bust out larfing, she thrying her bist to kape a strate face. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XII A WEEK LATER