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Wet Magic son and hare. And that was me. You wouldn't think it to look at me," he added, spitting pensively and taking up the barrow handles, "but I'm a son and hare."

"And then what happened?" Mavis asked as they trudged on.

"Oh, George—he done his time, and I was a kiddy then, year-and-a-half old, all lace and ribbons and blue shoes made of glove-stuff, and George pinched me, and it makes me breff short, wheeling and talking." "Pause and rest, my spangled friend," said the Mermaid in a voice of honey, "and continue your thrilling narrative."

"There ain't no more to it," said the boy, "except that I got one of the shoes. Old Mother Romaine 'ad kep' it, and a little shirt like a lady's handkercher, with R. V. on it in needlework. She didn't ever tell me what part of the country my dad was Beak in. Said she'd tell me next day. An' then there wasn't no next day for her—not fer telling things in, there wasn't."

He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.

"She wasn't half a bad sort," he explained.

"Don't cry," said Mavis unwisely.

"Cry? Me?" he answered scornfully. "I've got a cold in me 'ead. You oughter know the difference between a cold in the head and sniveling. You been to school, I lay?—they might have taught you that."

"I wonder the gypsies didn't take the shoe and the shirt away from you?"

"Nobody know'd I'd got 'em; I always kep' 'em inside my shirt, wrapt up in a bit of paper, and when I put on me tights I used to hide 'em. I'm a-going to take the road one of these days, and find out who it was lost a kid with blue shoes and shirt nine years come April."

"Then you're ten and a half," said Mavis. 56