st and tea she
wouldn't look at it. Said she wanted to die. He got quite uneasy till
'e came 'ome the next night and found the best part of a loaf o' bread, a
quarter o' butter, and a couple o' chops he 'ad got in for 'is supper had
gorn; and then when he said 'e was glad she 'ad got 'er appetite back she
turned round and said that he grudged 'er the food she ate.

And no woman ever owned up as 'ow she was wrong; and the more you try and
prove it to 'em the louder they talk about something else. I know wot
I'm talking about because a woman made a mistake about me once, and
though she was proved to be in the wrong, and it was years ago, my missus
shakes her 'ead about it to this day.

It was about eight years arter I 'ad left off going to sea and took up
night-watching. A beautiful summer evening it was, and I was sitting by
the gate smoking a pipe till it should be time to light up, when I
noticed a woman who 'ad just passed turn back and stand staring at me.
I've 'ad that sort o' thing before, and I went on smoking and looking
straight in front of me. Fat middle-aged woman she was, wot 'ad lost her
good looks and found others. She stood there staring and staring, and by
and by she tries a little cough.

I got up very slow then, and, arter looking all round at the evening,
without seeing 'er, I was just going to step inside and shut the wicket,
when she came closer.

"Bill!" she ses, in a choking sort o' voice.

"Bill!"

I gave her a look that made her catch 'er breath, and I was just stepping
through the wicket, when she laid hold of my coat and tried to hold me
back.

"Do you know wot you're a-doing of?" I ses, turning on her.

"Oh, Bill dear," she ses, "don't talk to me like that. Do you want to
break my 'art? Arter all these years!"

She pulled out a dirt-coloured pocket-'ankercher and stood there dabbing
her eyes with it. One eye at a time she dabbed, while she looked at me
reproachful with the other. And arter eight dabs, four to each eye, she
began to sob as if her 'art would break.

"Go away," I ses, very slow. "You can't stand making that noise outside
my wharf. Go away and give somebody else a treat."

Afore she could say anything the potman from the Tiger, a nasty ginger-
'aired little chap that nobody liked, come by and stopped to pat her on
the back.

"There, there, don't take on, mother," he ses. "Wot's he been a-doing to
you?"

"You get off 'ome," I ses, losing my temper.