hes,
flyers and creepers, an' squeakers and flutterers," said the boy,
clasping both hands over one knee, and rocking himself to and fro on the
counter, while he gazed into the owl's face with the air of one whose
mind is rambling far away into the remote past.

"Once on a time," he continued, sadly, "I dwelt in the country. I was
born in the country. I'm a sort o' country gentleman by nature, so to
speak, and would have bin revellin' in the country to this day if a
perwerse fate hadn't driven me into the town--a very perwerse fate
indeed."

"Indeed?" said Aspel, unable to restrain a laugh at his visitor's
old-fashioned ways, "what sort of fate was it?"

"A perwerse one, didn't I tell you?"

"Yes, but wherein consisted its perversity? How did it act, you know?"

"Ah, its perwersity consisted in drivin' me into town in a market-cart,"
said Pax. "You must know that my perwerse fate was a uncle. He was a
big brute. I don't mean to speak of 'im disrespectfully. I merely give
'im his proper name. He was a market-gardener and kept cows--also a
pump. He had a wife and child--a little girl. Ah! a sweet child it
was."

"Indeed," said Aspel, as the boy relapsed into a silent contemplative
gaze at the pelican.

"Yes," resumed Pax, with a sigh, "it _was_ a child, that was. Her name
was Mariar, but we called 'er Merry. Her father's name--the Brute's,
you know--was Blackadder, and a blacker adder don't wriggle its slimy
way through filthy slums nowhere--supposin' him to be yet unscragged,
for he was uncommon hard on his wife--that's my Aunt Georgie. _Her_
name was Georgianna. I wonder how it is that people _never_ give people
their right names! Well, Mr Aspel, you must know I was nuss to baby.
An amytoor nuss I was--got no pay for it, but a considerable allowance
o' kicks from the Brute, who wasn't fond o' me, as I'd done 'im a mortal
injury, somehow, by being his defunct brother's orphan child. You
understand?"

George Aspel having professed a thorough comprehension of these family
relationships, little Pax went on.

"Well then, bein' nuss to Merry, I used to take 'er out long walks in
the fields among the flowers, an' I was used to catch butterflies and
beetles for 'er, an' brought 'em home an' stuck pins through 'em an'
made c'lections; an' oh, I _did_ like to scuttle about the green lanes
an' chase the cows, an' roll on the grass in the sunshine with Merry,
an' tear an bu'st my trousers, for w'ich I go