Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar онлайн

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“What, yer grumbling agen as usual?” said another of the company. “Don’t be a runnin’ down Bricket, for he’s a good sort.”

“Who says he aint?” cried Nelly; “but some people are never satisfied.”

“Right you are, lass!” exclaimed several, for it was evident enough that the young woman was a general favourite.

“Aint nobody seen nothin’ of never a hat nowhere?” inquired a thin old man in a querulous voice, twisting in and out of the crowd like a ferret in a rabbit burrow.

“One ’ud think your silly old head were inside on it a wanderin’ about like that there,” said Nelly.

“Don’t ’ee say much to him,” whispered the woman with a child in her arms. “Poor Nat Peplow has aged wonderful these last three years. He don’t seem like the same man.”

“Ho, ho!” guffawed a rustic. “There aint much left of Nat now—

Poor old hoss! poor old hoss!

Once I eat the best of hay,

And lived in a foine stall;

But now I eats the short grass

As grows agen the wall.

Poor old hoss! poor old hoss!

Thee must die.”

“Ah! ye may laugh and sing,” said Nat, shaking his head and his voice quavering. “I mind the time when I used to troll that same ditty to grey hairs. It’s right it should fall back on me now.”