neighbour's cottage--solemnly walking down a by-lane alone, carrying a
rag-doll half as big as herself. I stopped, and admired; but, in spite
of her pride, she took a very matter-of-fact view of her toy. "It's head
keeps comin' off," was all that she could be persuaded to say.

"Matter-of-fact" is what the children are, for the most part. One autumn
evening, after dark, titterings and little squeals of excitement sounded
from a neighbour's garden, where a man, going to draw water from his
well, and carrying a lantern, was accompanied by four or five children.
In the security of his presence they were pretending to be afraid of
"bogies." "If a bogie was to come," I heard, "I should get up that
apple-tree, and then if he come up after me I should get down t'other
side." An excited laugh was followed by the man's contemptuous
remonstrance, "_Shut_ up!" which produced silence for a minute or two,
until the party were returning to the cottage; when a very endearing
voice called softly, "Bo-gie! Bo-gie! Come, bogie!" This instance of
fancy in a cottage child stands, however, alone in my experience. I have
never heard anything else like it in the village. The children romp and
squabble and make much noise; they play, though rarely, at
hide-and-seek; or else they gambol about aimlessly, or try to sing
together, or troop off to look at the fowls or the rabbits. The bigger
children are as a rule extremely kind to the lesser ones. A family of
small brothers and sisters who lived near me some time ago were most
pleasant to listen to for this reason. The smallest of them, a
three-year-old boy commonly called "'Arry," was their pet. "Look, 'Arry;
here's a _dear_ little flow-wer! A little 'arts-ease--look, 'Arry!"
"'Ere, 'Arry, have a bite o' this nice apple!" They were certainly
attractive children, though formidably grubby as to their faces. I heard
them with their father, admiring a litter of young rabbits in the hutch.
"O-oh, en't that a _dear_ little thing!" they exclaimed, again and
again. Sunday was especially delightful to them because their father was
at home then; and I liked to hear him playing with them. One
particularly happy hour they had, in which he feigned to be angry and
they to be defiant. They jumped about just out of his reach, jeering at
him. "Old Father Smither!" they cried, as often as their peals of
laughter would let them cry anything at all. But it struck me as very
strange that their sing-song derision was