SECOND BRANCH--THE BOOTS


Where had he been in his time? he repeated, when I asked him the
question. Lord, he had been everywhere! And what had he been? Bless
you, he had been everything you could mention a'most!

Seen a good deal? Why, of course he had. I should say so, he could
assure me, if I only knew about a twentieth part of what had come in his
way. Why, it would be easier for him, he expected, to tell what he
hadn't seen than what he had. Ah! A deal, it would.

What was the curiousest thing he had seen? Well! He didn't know. He
couldn't momently name what was the curiousest thing he had seen--unless
it was a Unicorn, and he see _him_ once at a Fair. But supposing a young
gentleman not eight year old was to run away with a fine young woman of
seven, might I think _that_ a queer start? Certainly. Then that was a
start as he himself had had his blessed eyes on, and he had cleaned the
shoes they run away in--and they was so little that he couldn't get his
hand into 'em.

Master Harry Walmers' father, you see, he lived at the Elmses, down away
by Shooter's Hill there, six or seven miles from Lunnon. He was a
gentleman of spirit, and good-looking, and held his head up when he
walked, and had what you may call Fire about him. He wrote poetry, and
he rode, and he ran, and he cricketed, and he danced, and he acted, and
he done it all equally beautiful. He was uncommon proud of Master Harry
as was his only child; but he didn't spoil him neither. He was a