ir, I could do naething else." I believed
him. Fit end for Rab, quick and complete. His teeth and his friends
gone, why should he keep the peace and be civil?

He was buried in the braeface, near the burn, the children of the
village, his companions, who used to make very free with him and sit
on his ample stomach as he lay half asleep at the door in the sun,
watching the solemnity.

THE BOOTS AT THE HOLLY-TREE INN

_Charles Dickens_ (1812-1870)

Where had he been in his time? he repeated, when I asked him the
question, Lord, he had been everywhere! And what had he been? Bless
you, he had been everything you could mention, a'most!

Seen a good deal? Why, of course he had. I should say so, he could
assure me, if I only knew about a twentieth part of what had come in
_his_ way. Why, it would be easier for him, he expected, to tell what
he hadn't seen than what he had. Ah! a deal, it would.

What was the curiousest thing he had seen? Well! He didn't know.
He couldn't momently name what was the curiousest thing he had
seen--unless it was a Unicorn--and he see _him_ once at a fair. But
supposing a young gentleman not eight year old was to run away with
a fine young woman of seven, might I think _that_ a queer start?
Certainly. Then that was a start as he himself had had his blessed
eyes on, and he had cleaned the shoes they run away in--and they was
so little he couldn't get his hand into 'em.

Master Harry Walmers' father, you see, he lived at the Elmses, down
away by Shooter's Hill there, six or seven miles from Lunnon. He was
a gentleman of spirit, and good-looking, and held his head up when he
walked, and had what you call Fire about him. He wrote poetry, and he
rode, and he ran, and he cricketed, and he danced, and he acted, and
he done it all equally beautiful. He was uncommon proud of Master
Harry as was his only child; but he didn't spoil him neither. He was
a gentleman that had a will of his own and a eye of his own, and that
would be minded. Consequently, though he made quite a companion of the
fine bright boy, and was delighted to see him so fond of reading his
fairy-books, and was never tired of hearing him say my name is Norval,
or hearing him sing his songs about Young May Moons is beaming love,
and When he as adores thee has left but the name, and that; still he
kept the command over the child, and the child _was_ a child, and it's
to be wished more of 'em was.

How did Boots happen to know a