(_At "The Plough and Horses."_)
"Upper classes be stirrin' o' theirselves to rights now, seemin'ly."
"'Ow be you meanin', George?"
"Squire be by my place 'tother day when I be 'avin' a bit o' quiet
pipe by my gate, same as you might be, Luther Cherriman, an' 'e
stops--which 'e ain't been in the 'abit o' doin'--an' 'e says, ''Ullo,
George,' 'e says, 'bain't you the man as allus used to keep a pig
ereabouts?' An' I answers 'im as I cert'nly did use to keep a pig
pretty constant when food-stuffs was cheaper than what they be now."
"What's 'e say to that, George?"
"'E says, 'My good man, if you was a bit more thrifty like, an' wasn't
above collectin' 'ouse'old scraps,' 'e says, 'an', moreover, if you
wasn't so blamed penny wise an' poun' foolish,' 'e says, 'you'd be
keepin' y'r pigs--breedin' of 'em--now, when you could get biggest
price for 'em. You'd be doin' o' y'rself a good turn an' settin'
a 'xample to y'r neighbours,' 'e says, 'as they badly needs. Well,
any'ow, think it over,' 'e says--an' away 'e goes."
"You been thinkin' it over, George?"
"In a manner o' speakin' I be thinkin' it over now, this very minute.
In a manner o' speakin' I were thinkin' it over when I goes up to the
Court over a bit o' business yesterday. 'Owever, I were really doin'
no more 'n airin' my mind, as you might say, to the Cook--a decent
'nough young woman. I 'adn't no idea o' nothin' more."
"What you say to 'er, then?"
"I were lookin' at a bit of a lawn they 'as up there to the left o'
their back-door. Middlin' poor bit o' lawn it be, not like them in
front, an' I says of it what I've often said afore. 'Too much lawn
to this 'ere 'ouse,' I says, 'to please me. Ruin o' England,' I says,
'lawns do be. Orter be dug up,' I says. 'Sow a matter o' fower bushels
o' taters,' I says, 'on that poor little bit 'lone. Don't like t' see
all this waste o' groun',' I says, 'an' us at war.'"
"What did Cook say to that? Some'at saucy, I be bound."
"'You be very practical, George,' she says, 'but food ain't
everything, even in times o' war. You did ought to have seen wounded
soldiers,' she says, 'settin' 'bout on all these 'ere lawns last
summer time, like a lot o' bluebottles, 'joyin' o' theirselves to
rights,' she says. 'An' 'ow could they a-done it, poor chaps,' she
says, 'if we'd 'ad nothin' but an ol' tater patch to offer 'em?'"
"You'd got y'r answer to that, I dessay."
"I 'ad. 'They soldier chaps could very well 'ave sat on the paths,' I
says--for the paths be wasteful wide to my thinkin'. 'A bit of a bench
or a chair or so, an' they'd 'ave been right as rain, with some'at
to look at as was sensible, too. A close-cut lawn ain't no manner o'
interest to a thinkin' man, not like a medder or a few rows o' good
early taters be.'"
"What did Cook say to that 'ere?"
"She laughs, an' she says, 'You be done courtin' then, George, I can
see. You ain't got no thought of a second wife, seemin'ly.' ''Ow d'
you know that?' I asks; an' she laughs again an' says she knows, 'cos
if 'twasn't so I'd like the thought of a bit o' lawn to sit out on
warm evenings an' such. An' then she says, 'You think too much o' y'r
stomach, George'--which fair rattled me."
"What you say?"
"I says again, 'They lawns be the ruin o' England, I tell ye'--an'
then I see 'er start an' go red 's a poppy, an' then she sort o'
plunges in at 'er door. An' then I looks round for first time an' I
sees Squire standin' there, 'earin' all as 'ad been said, an' for the
moment I'd 'ave been glad 'nough for a back-door too--so I would."
"Lord-a-mercy, George, you're a rare-un for puttin' y'r foot in it wi'
gentry! What to gracious did 'e make o' it?"
"'E sort o' smiled--but crooked like. An' then 'e says, 'No but what
you're right, George'--which were 'bout 'undred miles from what I
'spected 'im to say. 'Look 'ere,' 'e goes on, 'I'll make a bargain wi'
ye. You send me up 'alf-a-bushel o' seed potatoes,' 'e says, 'to start
on, an' I'll send you a young sow out o' the last litter. What d' you
say?'"
"What did ye say?"
"I says, 'Thank ye kindly, Sir. An' if I've done my bit to save
England from ruin I be fine an' glad.' And so I be."
* * * * *
More Tampering with the Calendar.
"Among the objections to flag days is that they have detracted
from the novelty of Alexandra Rose Day, which this year is
being held on June 31."--_Daily Paper._
This attempt to shove Alexandra Day right off the calendar, has, we
are glad to say, been unsuccessful; and to-day, June 21st, sees roses,
roses all the way as usual.
* * * * *