Ay,' he added, bitterly, ''tain't so many kind turns as I gets in this life, that I can afford to forget e'er a one.' And he sneaked off, with the deaf dog at his heels.
'How did that fellow get his name, Tregarva ?' 'Oh, most of them have nicknames round here.

Some of them hardly know their own real names, sir.' ('A sure sign of low civilisation,' thought Lancelot.) 'But he got his a foolish way; and yet it was the ruin of him.

When he was a boy of fifteen, he got miching away in church-time, as boys will, and took off his clothes to get in somewhere here in this very river, groping in the banks after craw-fish; and as the devil--for I can think no less-- would have it, a big one catches hold of him by the fingers with one claw, and a root with the other, and holds him there till Squire Lavington comes out to take his walk after church, and there he caught the boy, and gave him a thrashing there and then, naked as he stood.

And the story got wind, and all the chaps round called him Crawy ever afterwards, and the poor fellow got quite reckless from that day, and never looked any one in the face again; and being ashamed of himself, you see, sir, was never ashamed of anything else--and there he is.

That dog's his only friend, and gets a livelihood for them both.