THESE tales are written in an English dialect—none the less adialect for that it lacks uniformity in the misplacement ofaspirates, and lacks, too, strange words misunderstanded of thereader.
In South Kent villages with names ending in 'den,' and out away onthe Sussex downs where villages end in 'hurst,' live the plainpeople who talk this plain speech—a speech that should be sweeterin English ears than the implacable consonants of a northernkail-yard, or the soft one-vowelled talk of western hillsides.
All through the summer nights the market carts creak along theLondon road; to London go the wild young man and the steady youngman who 'betters' himself. To London goes the girl seeking a'place.' The 'beano' comes very near to this land—so near thatacross its marches you may hear the sackbut and shawm from thebreaks. Once a year come the hoppers. And so the cup of the hillsholds no untroubled pool of pastoral speech. This book thereforeis of no value to a Middle English scholar, and needs no glossary.
E. NESBIT.
KENT, March 1896.
MY cousin Sarah and me had only one aunt between us, and that was myAunt Maria, who lived in the little cottage up by the church.
Now my aunt had a tidy little bit of money laid by, which shecouldn't in reason expect to carry with her when her time came togo, wherever it was she might go to, and a houseful of furniture,old-fashioned, but strong and good still. So of course Sarah and Iwere not behindhand in going up to see the old lady, and taking hera pot or so of jam in fruiting season, or a turnover, maybe, on abaking-day, if the oven had been steady and the baking turned outwell. And you couldn't have told from aunt's manner which of us sheliked best; and there were some folks who thought she might leavehalf to me and half to Sarah, for she hadn't chick nor child of herown.
But aunt was of a having nature, and what she had once got togethershe couldn't bear to see scattered. Even if it was only what she hadgot in her rag-bag, she would give it to one person to make a bigquilt of, rather than give it to two persons to make two littlequilts.
So Sarah and me, we knew that the money might come to either orneither of us, but go to both it wouldn't.
Now, some people don't believe in special mercies, but I have alwaysthought there must have been something out of the common way forthings to happen as they did the day Aunt Maria sprained her ankle.She sent over to the farm where we were living with my mother (whowas a sensible woman, and carried on the farm much b