Part 20 (1/2)

THE COUNTRY OF c.o.c.kAIGNE.

A MONOLOGUE--WITH A MORAL.

_An airless Court in a London back Street. TIME--August._

JIMMY (_aged eight, to Florrie, aged seven_). No, I ain't comin' to the Reckereation Groun', not jess yit, I carn't.... I'm goin' ter wyte about 'ere till the lidy comes.... Why, 'er as is comin' to see my Muvver 'bout sendin' me fur a fortnight in the kerntry.... Yus, where I was larst year.... It's settled as I'm ter go agine--leastways as _good_ as settled. My Farver 'e've sent in a happlication to the K'mitty, and Teacher 'e sez 'e kin reckermend me, an' Mr. and Mrs. Delves--them as 'ad the cottidge where I went afore--they've arst fur to 'ave me agin--so you see, Florrie, it's all _right_. On'y I carn't settle to nuffink afore I know when I'm goin', an' about the trine an' that. Yer 'ave to roide in a trine to git to the kerntry, yer know.... Wot, ain't yer never bin there?... Yer'd wanter fawst enough if yer knoo what it was loike.... There's grorss there, an' trees an' that.... Na-ow, a _lot_ better 'n the Reckereation Groun'--that's all mide outer old grivestones as the deaders 'as done wiv. There's 'ills an' bushes an'

'edges where yer can pick flowers.... There ain't no perlice to _git_ yer locked up.... An' everyfink smells so lovelly, kinder 'elthy like--it mikes yer feel 'ungry.... Not like sa.s.sages an' inions azackly--'tain't that sorter smell.... On'y 'ere and there, an' yer'd 'ardly tell they _was_ shops, they kerry 'em on that quoiet.... Yer wouldn' call it poky if yer was there. Mr. Delves 'e _was_ a kind man, 'e was; mide me a whistle out a sickermore brornch, 'e did; and Mrs.

Delves, she lemme help her feed the chickings.... They 'ad a garding beyind, an' there'd bin rasberries an' gooseberries a growin' on bushes--strite, there 'ad--I ain't tellin' yer no lies--on'y they was all gone by then. An' they 'ad a dog--Rover _'is_ nime was--'e was a koind dog, lemme lay insoide of 'is kennel orfen, 'e would.... I'd like ter 'ave a run over thet Common agen, too. I dessay as I sh.e.l.l--p'reps the d'y arter to-morrer.... There's a pond on it, an' geese, an' they comes at yer a stritching out their necks an' a-'issin' thet sevidge.... Na-ow, yer've on'y got ter walk up to 'em, an' they goes orf, purtendin' they took yer fur somebody else, an' wasn't meanin' no offence. I ain't afride o' no geese, I ain't--nor yet Lily wasn't neither. We sor a pig 'aving a ring put froo 'is nose one day. 'E 'ollered out like 'e was bein' killed--but 'e wasn't. An' there was a blecksmiff's, where they put the 'orse's shoes on red 'ot, 'an the 'orse 'e never took no notice. Me and Lily used ter go fur long walks, all under trees. Once she showed me a squill--”squerl” _she_ kep' a-calling of it, till I tole 'er 'ow--an' it run up a tree zigzag, and jumped on to another ever so fur. That was when we was pickin' nuts. We went a blackberryin', too, one day.... Na-ow, there warn't n.o.body dead. An'

Lily ... Lily Delves 'er nime was, b'longed to them I was stoppin'

wiv.... I didn't notice partickler.... Older nor you, an' bigger, and lots redder 'bout the cheeks.... She wasn't a bad sort--fur a gal.... I dunno; I liked _all_ on 'em.... Well, there was Farmer Furrows, 'e was very familiar, said as 'ow I might go inter 'is horchard and pick the happles up as was layin' there jest fur the askin'. An' Bob Rumble, 'im as druv Mr. Kennister the grocer's cart, 'e used ter gimme a roide along of 'im when 'e was tikin' round porcels an' that. We'd go along lanes that 'igh yer couldn't see nuffink fur leaves; and once 'e druv along a Pork with tremenjus big trees in it, an' stagses walkin' about underneath with grite big 'orns.... Suthink like 'im as is drawed outside the public round the corner--on'y they warn't none o' them gold.

I 'speck them gold ones is furrin'.... An' the grub--we 'ad beekstike pudd'n o' Sundays, an' as much bread an' treacle every day as ever I could eat, and I _was_ 'ungry when I was in the kerntry.... An' when I come away Mrs. Delves, she gethered me a big noseguy fur to tike 'ome to Muvver--kissantimums, merrigoles, an' dyliers, all sorts there was--an'

Murver she put 'em in a jug, and soon as ever I shet my eyes an'

sniffed, I could see that garding and Rover and Lily as _pline_--but they went bad, an' 'ad to be froed aw'y at larst. I shall see 'em all agine very soon now, though, won't thet be proime, eh?... Whatsy? 'Ere, Florrie, you ain't _croying_, are yer?... Why don't yer arsk yer Farver if 'e won't let _you_ go.... Oh, I thought as yer _wanted_ to go. Then what _are_ yer----?... No, I ain't gled to git aw'y from you....

A-course I sh.e.l.l be gled to see 'er; but that ain't why, it's jest----You ain't never bin in the kerntry, or you'd know 'ow I'm feelin'.... There's the lidy comin' now. I must cut across an' 'ear what she sez to Muvver. Don' tike on--'tain't o'ny fur a fortnight, anyway.... Look 'ere, I got suthink' for yer, Florrie, bought it orf a man what 'ad a tray on 'em--it's a wornut, d'ye see? Now open it--ain't them two little choiner dolls noice, eh?... I'd rorther you 'ad it nor 'er, strite, I would!... I'll be back in a minnit.