ysterious wild beast, 'the
gen'leman.'

One boy, Jimmy--a very fair-headed, blue-eyed, chubby little chap,
seven years old--Tony's eldest boy at home--seems to have taken a
particular fancy to me. Whether it began with bananas, or with my
giving him a pick-a-back to the top of the cliffs, I hardly know. At
all events he has decided that I am a desirable friend. He has shown me
his small properties--his pencil, and his boats that he makes out of a
piece of wood with wing-feathers for sails and a piece of tin, stuck
into the bottom, for centre-keel;--has told me what standard he is in
at school; and one of the first things I hear whenever he comes into
the house, is: "Mam! Wher's Mister Ronals?"

[Sidenote: _JIMMY OUT TO TEA_]

To-day, on my way to the Tuckers' to tea, I passed Jimmy's school. The
boys were just let loose. Jimmy left a yelling group of them to come
along with me. Nearby the Tuckers' gate, I told him where I was going,
and said _Good-bye_. Jimmy fell behind. But whilst we were at tea, I
repeatedly saw a white head sneaking round the laurels outside the
window, and blue eyes peeping. Miss Tucker had him in; whereupon,
rather shyly, with hands horribly grubby from the school slates, Jimmy
ate much bread and butter and many cakelets, and ended up by tucking
three apples into his blouse. He came home very pleased indeed with
himself.

Tony was almost angry. "However come'd 'ee, Missis, to let 'em go out
to a gen'leman's to tay in thic mess?"

"Stupid! How cude I help o'it?"

"What did 'ee think o'it, Jimmy?"

"The lady gie'd I dree apples!"

Tony, though shocked, was also pleased; Jimmy delighted. Every now and
then he draws himself up with a "Coo'h! I been out to tay wi' Mister
Ronals!"

They have a strange way, these children, of placing their hands on one,
smiling up into one's face, and saying nothing. It has the effect of
making one feel their separate, distinct personalities, and,
additionally, of making one feel rather proud of the approbation of
those small personages who think so much and divulge so little.

6

There has been no fishing. Either the sea has been too rough to ride to
a slingstone[1] for blinn and conger, or else too calm, so that the
mackerel hookers[2] could not sail out and therefore no fresh bait was
to be had. It is quite useless to fish for conger with stale bait. Tony
tells me that I ought to be here in a month's time, when he will have
fewer pleasure parties to