'
'Passel o' no-sense stuff,' growled Hobden, but he
filled his pipe.
'The Marsh men they call it Dymchurch Flit,'Tom went
on slowly. 'Hap you have heard it?'
'My woman she've told it me scores o' times. Dunno as
I didn't end by belieftin' it - sometimes.
Hobden crossed over as he spoke, and sucked with his
pipe at the yellow lanthorn flame. Tom rested one great
elbow on one great knee, where he sat among the coal.
'Have you ever bin in the Marsh?' he said to Dan.
'Only as far as Rye, once,' Dan answered.
'Ah, that's but the edge. Back behind of her there's
steeples settin' beside churches, an' wise women settin'
beside their doors, an' the sea settin' above the land, an'
ducks herdin' wild in the diks' (he meant ditches). 'The
Marsh is justabout riddled with diks an' sluices, an'
tide-gates an' water-lets. You can hear 'em bubblin' an'
grummelin' when the tide works in 'em, an' then you
hear the sea rangin' left and right-handed all up along the
Wall. You've seen how flat she is - the Marsh? You'd
think nothin' easier than to walk eend-on acrost her? Ah,
but the diks an' the water-lets, they twists the roads
about as ravelly as witch-yarn on the spindles.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249