dger! _Widger!_
Yer, Widger!' 'Twer al'ays, 'Widger! Widger!' in thic show--blarsted
row! 'I wants 'ee to take thees yer parcel to Mr Brindley-Botton's
(what used to live to Southview House) in time for lunch. Hurry up!'"

Tony, in short, put a couple of the bruised oranges into his pocket,
ran off, and delivered his parcel at Southview House. On the way back,
he ate one of the oranges and, boyishly, threw the peel about outside
Mr Brindley-Botton's side gate. He heard someone shouting to him
and--but without turning his head--he shouted "Hell about it!" airily
back. Then, as it was the dinner hour, he loitered on the Green Patch
to play marbles with some other lads, and to share the second bruised
orange. On returning to Cloade's:

"Whu did I see but Mr Brindley-Botton's coachman wi' a little packet in
white paper. 'Twas thic orange peel, all neatly done up, an' a li'I
note saying as I'd a-been cheeky to him, which I hadn't, not knowingly.
Mr Cloade, he called me into his little office, asted me what I'd been
doing, where I went, an' where I got the oranges.

"'Bought 'em,' says I.

"'Twas a lie, an' I hadn't no need for to tell it, seeing I was al'ays
free to take a bruised orange or two when I wer sorting of 'em. On'y I
wer frightened. 'Where did you get them?' he asked.

"'Up to Mrs Ashford's for a penny,' says I.

"'Did you?'

"'Yes, sir,' says I.

"'Are you telling me a lie? I can find out, mind.'

"'No, sir,' I said.

"'Be you sure you ain't telling of a lie?'

"Then I broked down, an' I said they was bruised ones what I'd a-took.
Father, he wer working to Mr Cloade's then, fishing being bad, an' the
master called he. _He_ walloped me--walloped me with a rope's end. An'
I swore as I'd never go back no more, an' I didn't. Every time Father
tried to make me, I up an' said as I'd go to sea.

[Sidenote: _OUT DRIFTING ALL NIGHT_]

"Ay! for all I'm a man now, I 'ouldn't like to work like I did
then--more'n a man's work an' less'n a boy's pay, an' hardly a penny
for meself. I tells John _he_ don't know what 'tis to work like I did
then. _I_'ouldn't du it no more."

But, with his father's boat, Tony did work far harder--hooking mackerel
at dawn, in with a catch and out to sea again, or up on land hawking
them round; out drifting all night; crabbing, lobster-potting,
shrimping,[4] wrinkling,[5] or taking out frights,[6] wet and dry,
rough and calm, day and night. "Aye, an' I be suffering from it now.
Th