"'Nothin' in natur', unless it is an Ingin, is so
treacherous as the climate here. It jist clears up on
purpose I do believe, to tempt you out without your
umbreller, and jist as sure as you trust it and leave it
to home, it clouds right up, and sarves you out for it--it
does indeed. What a sight of new clothes I've spilte
here, for the rain has a sort of dye in it. It stains
so, it alters the colour of the cloth, for the smoke is
filled with gas and all sorts of chemicals. Well, back
I goes to my room agin' to the rooks, chimbly swallers,
and all, leavin' a great endurin' streak of wet arter me
all the way, like a cracked pitcher that leaks; onriggs,
and puts on dry clothes from head to foot.
"By this time breakfast is ready; but the English don't
do nothin' like other folks; I don't know whether it's
affectation, or bein' wrong in the head--a little of both
I guess. Now where do you suppose the solid part of
breakfast is, Squire? Why, it's on the side-board--I hope
I may be shot if it ain't--well, the tea and coffee are
on the table, to make it as onconvenient as possible.
"Says I, to the lady of the house, as I got up to help
myself, for I was hungry enough to make beef ache I know.
'Aunty,' sais I, 'you'll excuse me, but why don't you
put the eatables on the table, or else put the tea on
the side-board? They're like man and wife, they don't
ought to be separated, them two.'
"She looked at me, oh what a look of pity it was", as
much as to say, 'Where have you been all your born days,
not to know better nor that?--but I guess you don't know
better in the States--how could you know any thing there?'
But she only said it was the custom here, for she was a
very purlite old woman, was Aunty.
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