lad."

"Thee may say that, Jeames," replied Giles; "or d'ye see they did'nt
find I green enough."

"I do think now, Giles," said James, "that Mother Styles do feed thee on
nothing, and keeps her cat on the leavings."

"Noa, she don't," said Giles, "for we boath do get what we can catch, and
nothing more. Whoy, now, what do you think, Jeames; last Saturday, if
the old 'ooman did'nt sarve me out a dish o' biled horse-beans--"

"Horse-beans?" cried James; "lack-a-daisy me, and what did you do?"

"Whoy, just what a horse would ha' done, to be sure--"

"Eat 'em?"

"Noa--I kicked, and said 'Nay,' and so the old 'ooman put herself into a
woundy passion wi' I. 'Not make a dinner of horsebeans, you dainty
dog,' says she; 'I wish you may never have a worse.'--'Noa, mother,' says
I, 'I hope I never shall.' And she did put herself into such a tantrum,
to be sure--so I bolted; whereby, d'ye see, I saved my bacon, and the old
'ooman her beans. But it won't do. Jeames, I've a notion I shall go a
recruit, and them I'm thinking I shall get into a reg'lar mess, and get
shut of a reg'lar row."

"Dang it, it's too bad!" said the sympathising James; "and when do thee
go?"