"THE BLEW BE THE ZEE, JEM, AN' THE YALLER BE THE CORN, SURE
NUFF. AN' THE BIT O' BROWN IN THE CORNER--BUST ME, THAT MUST BE TH' OL'
GEYSER 'ERSELF!"]
* * * * *
MIRIAM'S TWO BABIES.
That last morning at Easthaven, Miriam, alone of us three, preserved her
equanimity. I had arisen with the lark, having my own things to pack, to
say nothing--though nothing was not the only thing I said--of Billie's pram
and Billie's cot and Billie's bath. I wished afterwards I had let the lark
rise by himself; if I do heavy work before breakfast I always feel a little
depressed ("snappy" is Miriam's crude synonym) for the remainder of the
day.
As to Billie, his first farewells went off admirably. He blew a kiss to the
lighthouse, that tall friend who had winked at him so jovially night after
night. And it was good to see him hoisted aloft--pale-blue jersey,
goldilocks and small wild-rose face--to hug his favourite fisherman, Mr.
Moy, of the grizzled beard and the twinkling eyes.
But when the time came for Billie to say good-bye to the beach he refused
point-blank.
"Billie wants to keep it," he vociferated.
Miriam, woman-like, was all for compromise. Billie should fill his pail
with pretty pebbles and take them to London in the puffer-train.
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