"What do you do with yourself when you're, not outside?" asked
Pip.

"Smoke," said the man.

"But on Sundays, and all through the evenings?"

"Smoke," he said.

"On Cwismas day," Baby said, pressing to see this strange man;
"zen what does you do?"

"Smoke" he said.

Judy wanted to know how long he'd lived in the little place, and
everyone was stricken dumb to hear he had been there most of the time
for seven years.

"Don't you ever forget how to talk?" she said, in an awestruck
voice.

But he answered laconically to his beard that there was the cat.

Baby had found it already under the kerosene tin that did duty
for a bucket, and it had scratched her in three places: brown,
like its master, it was evil-eyed, fiercely whiskered, thin
as a rail; still, there was the affection of years between the two.

Mr. Gillet told him of the squatter's wish that he should go with the