VII.

Tick, tack, tick, tack, and smilingly she eyed me

(Dreadful the low cunning of these creechars, don't you think?)

"That's all right! The weather's bright. Them bushes there 'ull hide me.

Don't the gorse smell nice?" I felt my derned old eyelids

blink!

Supper? I've a crust of bread, a big one, and a bottle," (Just as I expected! Ah, these creechars always drink!) "Sugar and water and half a pinch of tea to rinse my throttle, Then I'll curl up cosy !"-"If you're cotched it means the clink!"

"Yus, but don't you think

If a star should see me, God 'ull tell that star to wink?"

VIII.

"Now, look here," I says, "I don't know what your blooming age is!"

"Three-score years and five," she says, "that's five more years to go

Tick, tack, tick, tack, before I gets my wages!"

"Wages all be damned," I says, "there's one thing that I know

Gals that stay out late o' nights are sure to meet wi' sorrow. Speaking as a toff," I says, "it isn't comme il faut ! Tell me why you want to get to Piddinghoe to-morrow.""That was where my son worked, twenty years ago!""Twenty years ago?

Never wrote? May still be there? Remember you? . . . Just so!"

IX.

Yus, it was a drama; but she weren't my long-lost parent!
Tick, tack, tick, tack, she trotted all the while,
Never getting forrarder, and not the least aware on't,
Though I stood beside her with a sort of silly smile
Stock-still! Tick, tack! This blooming world's a bubble:
There I stood and stared at it, mile on flowery mile,
Chasing o' the sunset.- "Gals are sure to meet wi' trouble
Staying out o' nights," I says, once more, and tries to smile,
Come, that aint your style,

66

Here's a shilling, mother, for to-day I've made my pile!"

X.

Yus, a dozen coppers, all my capital, it fled, sir,
Representin' twelve bokays that cost me nothink each,
Twelve bokays o' corn - flowers blue that grew beside my
bed, sir,

That same day, at sun-rise, when the sky was like a peach:
Easy as a poet's dreams they blossomed round my head, sir,
All I had to do was just to lift my hand and reach:
So, upon the roaring waves I cast my blooming bread, sir,
Bread I'd earned with nose-gays on the bare-fut Brighton
beach,

Nose-gays, and a speech,

All about the bright blue eyes they matched on Brighton beach.

XI.

Still, you've only got to hear the bankers on the budget, Then you'll know the giving game is hardly "high finance” Which no more it wasn't for that poor old dame to trudge it, Tick, tack, tick, tack, on such a devil's dance:

Crumbs, it took me quite aback to see her stop so humble, Casting up into my face a sort of shiny glance,

Bless you, bless you, that was what I thought I heard her mumble,

Lord, a prayer for poor old Bill, a rummy sort of chance! Crumbs, that shiny glance

Kinder made me king of all the sky from here to France

XII.

Tick, tack, tick, tack, but now she toddled faster:

Soon she'd reach the little twisted by-way through the wheat. "Look 'ee here," I says, "young woman, don't you court disaster!

Peepin' through yon poppies there's a cottage trim and neat, White as chalk and sweet as turf: wot price a bed for

sorrow,

Sprigs of lavender between the pillow and the sheet?" "No," she says, "I've got to get to Piddinghoe to-morrow! P'raps they'd tell the work'us! And I've lashings here

to eat:

Don't the gorse smell sweet?"

Well, I turned and left her plodding on beside the wheat.

XIII.

Every cent I'd given her like a hero in a story;

Yet, alone with leagues of wheat I seemed to grow aware Solomon himself, arrayed in all his golden glory,

Couldn't vie with Me, the corn-flower king, the millionaire ! How to cash those bright blue cheques that night? My trouser pockets

Jingled sudden! Six more pennies, crept from James knew

where !

Crumbs! I hurried back with eyes just bulging from their sockets,

Pushed 'em in the old dame's fist and listened for the prayer, Shamming not to care,

Bill-the blarsted chicken-thief, the corn-flower millionaire.

XIV.

Tick, tack, tick, tack, and faster yet she clattered!

Ay, she'd almost gained a yard! I left her once again. Feeling very warm inside and sort of 'ighly flattered,

On I plodded, all alone, with hay-stacks in my brain. Suddenly, with chink-chink-chink, the old sweet jingle Startled me! "TWAS THRUPPENCE MORE! three coppers round and plain!

Lord, temptation struck me and I felt my gullet tingle. Then I hurried back beside them seas of golden grain : No, I can't explain;

There I thrust 'em in her fist, and left her once again.

XV.

Tinkle-chink! THREE HA'PENCE! If the vulgar fractions

followed,

Big fleas have little fleas! It flashed upon me there,Like the snakes of Pharaoh which the snakes of Moses

swallowed

All the world was playing at the tortoise and the hare: Half the smallest atom is-my soul was getting tipsyHeaven is one big circle and the centre's everywhere, Yus, and that old woman was an angel and a gipsy, Yus, and Bill, the chicken-thief, the corn-flower millionaire, Shamming not to care,

What was he? A seraph on the misty rainbow-stair!

VOL. CLXXXVI.—NO. MCXXVIII.

20

XVI.

Don't you make no doubt of it! The deeper that you look, sir,
All your ancient poets tell you just the same as me,-
What about old Ovid and his most indecent book, sir,
Morphosizing females into flower and star and tree?
What about old Proteus and his 'ighly curious 'abits,
Mixing of his old grey beard into the old grey sea?
What about old Darwin and the hat that brought forth
rabbits,

Mud and slime that growed into the pomp of Ninevey?
What if there should be

One great Power beneath it all, one God in you and me?

XVII.

Anyway, it seemed to me I'd struck the world's pump-handle! "Back with that three ha'pence, Bill," I mutters, "or

you're lost."

Back I hurries thro' the dusk where, shining like a candle, Pale before the sunset stood that fairy finger-post.

Sir, she wasn't there! I'd struck the place where all roads

crost,

All the roads in all the world.

Even to the Swish!

She couldn't yet have trotted Hist! a stealthy step behind? A ghost?

A flying noose had caught me round the neck! Garotted!

Back I staggered, clutching at the moonbeams, yus, almost Throttled! Sir, I boast

Bill is tough, but . . . when it comes to throttling by a ghost!

XVIII.

Winged like a butterfly, tall and slender
Out It steps with the rope on its arm.
"Crumbs," I says, "all right! I surrender!
When have I crossed you or done you harm?
Ef you're a sperrit," I says, "O, crikey,

Ef you're a sperrit, get hence, vamoose!"
Sweet as music, she spoke-"I'm Psyche!"-
Choking me still with her silken noose.

XIX.

Straight at the word from the ferns and blossoms
Fretting the moon-rise over the downs,
Little blue wings and little white bosoms,
Little white faces with golden crowns,

Peeped, and the colours came twinkling round me,
Laughed, and the turf grew purple with thyme,
Danced, and the sweet crushed scents nigh drowned me,
Sang, and the hare-bells rang in chime.

XX.

All around me, gliding and gleaming,
Fair as a fallen sunset-sky,
Butterfly wings came drifting, dreaming,
Clouds of the little folk clustered nigh,
Little white hands like pearls uplifted
Cords of silk in shimmering skeins,

Cast them about me and dreamily drifted
Winding me round with their soft warm chains.

XXI.

Round and round me they dizzily floated,
Binding me faster with every turn:

Crumbs, my pals would have grinned and gloated
Watching me over that fringe of fern,
Bill, with his battered old hat outstanding
Black as a foam-swept rock to the moon,
Bill, like a rainbow of silks expanding
Into a beautiful big cocoon,—

XXII.

Big as a cloud, though his hat still crowned him,
Yus, and his old boots bulged below:
Seas of colour went shimmering round him,
Dancing, glimmering, glancing, a-glow!
Bill knew well what them elves were at, sir,-
Aint you an en-to-mol-o-gist?

Well, despite of his old black hat, sir,

Bill was becoming-a chrysalist.