cottage, with clambering creepers. "There's not a green leaf a mile of our hut," he continued. "Thistles is the only thing thrives there, and they looks sick-like, and stands far off one from t'other, as if they'd squabbled."
"Don't stint the butter, mister," urged the good wife, as she observed her guest applying the slightest streak to his bread. "There's a plenty where it comed from. That brown bread's cooked this mornin'. Try them scones Sar' Ann's just made."
"I've not seed butter nor milk sin' spring," exclaimed the man. "No wonder your children looks fat. It's two shillin's a poun' at Grogham's shanty."
"We sends tons away every week," replied Smith, proudly. "Doctor says we gets top price, 'cause no other coves has butter comin' in. 'It's an ill wind blows no one any good,' says Mike Milligan, next door, when the north wind's on. Leastways it makes a market for we."
"Now, my good man," urges Mrs. Smith again, "try this 'ere strawberry and cream."
"Bless you, I've not tasted the like," replies the guest, "since I comed on these blessed plains."
"Well, eat your fill; there's miles of strawberries and raspberries on Mimosa Vale. At same time, this comed out of our own garding. We wants nothing from the store now," she continued, "but a bit of groceries of Saturday nights. You come over on Sunday, and we'll give you a taste of somethin' good—sucking-pig."
"Yes," interjected Sar' Ann, "as Mr. Milligan says, we knows what appetite means here. 'When I'm eatin', I'm 'appy; when I'm full, I'm tite.'"
"Sar' Ann," remonstrated the laughing mother, "don't you repeat Mr. Milligan's rude sayin's."
"Bless you, he means no harm," she added, apolo-
