'E 'eard us talkin' through the open door.
"'Oo's that?" 'e croaks, altho' 'e tries to roar.
An' when 'is wife ixplains it's only me
To 'elp a bit: "I want no charity!"
'E barks. "I'll do me work meself, yeh 'ear?"
An' then 'e gits so snarky that I clear.
But 'e'll do me. I like the ole boy's nerve.
We don't do nothin' that 'e don't deserve;
But me an' Peter Begg an' ole man Poole,
We fairly 'as our work cut out to fool
The sly ole fox, when we sneaks down each day
An' works a while to keep things under way.
We digs a bit, an' ploughs a bit, an' chops
The wood, an' does the needful to 'is crops.
We does it soft, an' when 'e 'ears a row
'Is missus tells 'im it's the dog or cow.
'E sez that it's queer noises for a pup.
An'—there'll be ructions when ole Flood gits up.
It ain't all overwork that's laid 'im out.
Ole Pride in 'im is 'avin' scraps with Doubt.
To-day 'is wife sez, "Somethin's strange in 'im,
For in 'is sleep sometimes 'e calls for Jim.
It's six long years," she sez, an' stops to shake
'Er 'ead. "But 'e don't mention 'im awake."
