Country life -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction; Rural poor -- England -- Fiction
a pair of new boots or an extra box of cigars to me.'--And Lancelot
put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out a sovereign. No doubt he
was a great goose; but if you can answer his arguments, reader, I
cannot.
'Look here--what are your night-lines worth?'
'A matter of seven shilling; ain't they now, Paul Tregarva?'
'I should suppose they are.'
'Then do you give me the lines, one and all, and there's a sovereign
for you.--No, I can't trust you with it all at once. I'll give it
to Tregarva, and he shall allow you four shillings a week as long as
it lasts, if you'll promise to keep off Squire Lavington's river.'
It was pathetic, and yet disgusting, to see the abject joy of the
poor creature. 'Well,' thought Lancelot, 'if he deserves to be
wretched, so do I--why, therefore, if we are one as bad as the
other, should I not make his wretchedness a little less for the time
being?'
'I waint come a-near the water. You trust me--I minds them as is
kind to me'--and a thought seemed suddenly to lighten up his dull
intelligence.
'I say, Paul, hark you here. I see that Bantam into D * * * t'other
day.'
'What! is he down already?'
'With a dog-cart; he and another of his pals; and I see 'em take out
a silk flue, I did. So, says I, you maunt be trying that ere along
o' the Whitford trout; they kepers is out o' nights so sure as the
moon.'
'You didn't know that. Lying again!'
'No, but I sayed it in course. I didn't want they a-robbing here;
so I think they worked mainly up Squire Vaurien's water.'
'I wish I'd caught them here,' quoth Tregarva, grimly enough;
'though I don't think they came, or I should have seen the track on
the banks.'
'But he sayed like, as how he should be down here again about
pheasant shooting.'
'Trust him for it. Let us know, now, if you see him.'
'And that I will, too. I wouldn't save a feather for that 'ere old
rascal, Harry. If the devil don't have he, I don't see no use in
keeping no devil. But I minds them as has mercy on me, though my
name is Crawy. Ay,' he added, bitterly, ''tain't so many kind turns
as I gets in this life, that I can afford to forget e'er a one.'
And he sneaked off, with the deaf dog at his heels.
'How did that fellow get his name, Tregarva?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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