I
ain't fit for much else now, you see, Miss, though I have seen a deal of
service, and as I sit sometimes watching the little ones playing on the
sand, and with the shingle, I keep my ears open, for I can't bear to see
children grieved, and sometimes I put in a word to the nurse maids.
Bless me! to see how some of 'em whip up the children in the midst of
their play. Neither with your leave, nor by your leave; 'here, come
along, you dirty, naughty boy, here's a wet frock! Come, this minute,
you tiresome child, it's dinner time.' Now that ain't what I call fair
play, Miss. I say you ought to speak civil, even to a child; and then,
the crying, and the shaking, and the pulling up the gangway. Many and
many is the little squaller I go and pacify, and carry as well as I can
up the cliff: but I beg pardon, Miss, hope I don't offend. Only I was
afraid, Miss there was a little awkward, and would give you trouble."
"Indeed," said Emilie, "I am much obliged to you; where do you live?"
"I live," said the old man, "I may say, a great part of my life, under
the sky, in summer time, but I lodge with my son, and he lives between
this and Brooke.
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