'Tain't a month now as I'm out o' prizzum along o' they fir-toppings, and I should, you see--' with a look up and down and round at the gay hay-meadows, and the fleet water, and the soft gleaming clouds, which to Lancelot seemed most pathetic,--'I should like to ha' a spell o' fresh air, like, afore I goes in again.' Tregarva stood over him and looked down at him, like some huge stately bloodhound on a trembling mangy cur.

'Good heavens!' thought Lancelot, as his eye wandered from the sad steadfast dignity of the one, to the dogged helpless misery of the other--'can those two be really fellow-citizens?
fellow-Christians ?--even animals of the same species?
Hard to believe!' True, Lancelot; but to quote you against yourself, Bacon, or rather the instinct which taught Bacon, teaches you to discern the invisible common law under the deceitful phenomena of sense.
'I must have those night-lines, Crawy,' quoth Tregarva, at length.
'Then I must starve.

You might ever so well take away the dog.

They're the life of me.' 'They're the death of you.

Why don't you go and work, instead of idling about, stealing trout ?' 'Be you a laughing at a poor fellow in his trouble?
Who'd gie me a day's work, I'd like to know?
It's twenty year too late for that!' Lancelot stood listening.