in 'is sweet ole smile.

"I got no time fer wasters, lad," sez 'e,
"But that there ugly mug o' yourn I trust."
An' so I reckon that it's up to me
To make a bloomin' do of it or bust.
I got to take the back-ache wiv the rest,
An' plug along, an' do me little best.

Luck ain't no steady visitor, I know;
But now an' then it calls--fer look at me!
You wouldn't take me, 'bout a year ago,
Free gratis wiv a shillin' pound o' tea;
Then, in a blessed 'eap, ole Forchin lands
A missus an' a farm fair in me 'ands.

XIII. The Kid

My son!...Them words, jist like a blessed song,
Is singin' in me 'eart the 'ole day long;
Over an' over; while I'm scared I'll wake
Out of a dream, to find it all a fake.

My son! Two little words, that, yesterdee,
Wus jist two simple, senseless words to me;
An' now--no man, not since the world begun,
Made any better pray'r than that....My son!

My son an' bloomin' 'eir...Ours!...'Ers an' mine!
The finest kid in--Aw, the sun don't shine--
Ther' ain't no joy fer me beneath the blue
Unless I'm gazin' lovin' at them two.

A little while ago it was jist "me"--
A lonely, longin' streak o' misery.
An' then 'twas "'er an' me"--Doreen, my wife!
An' now it's "'im an' us" an'--sich is life.

But 'struth! 'E is king-pin! The 'ead serang!
I mustn't tramp about, or talk no slang;
I mustn't pinch 'is nose, or make a face,
I mustn't--Strike! 'E seems to own the place!

Cunnin'? Yeh'd think, to look into 'is eyes,
'E knoo the game clean thro'; 'e seems that wise.
Wiv 'er 'an nurse 'e is the leadin' man,
An' poor ole dad's amongst the "also ran."

"Goog, goo," 'e sez, and curls 'is cunnin' toes.
Yeh'd be su'prised the 'caps o' things 'e knows.
I'll swear 'e tumbles I'm 'is father, too;
The way 'e squints at me, an' sez "Goog, goo."

Why! 'smornin' 'ere 'is lordship gits a grip
Fair on me finger-give it quite a nip!
An' when I tugs, 'e won't let go 'is hold!
'Angs on like that! An' 'im not three weeks old!

"Goog, goo," 'e sez. I'll swear yeh never did
In all yer natcheril, see sich a kid.
The cunnin' ways 'e's got; the knowin' stare--
Ther' ain't a youngster like 'im ANYWHERE!

An', when 'e gits a little pain inside,
'Is dead straight griffin ain't to be denied.
I'm sent to talk sweet nuffin's to the fowls;
While nurse turns 'and-spr