Tom,' he says, to my Tom, 'if you look as close as I do,' he says,
'you'll see what I see.' And young Tom looks up at him, as a dog might,
kind of faithful, and he says, 'I 'low I will, sir, please, sir.' I says
to him, 'Can a man be taught the like o' that?' 'No,' says he, 'but a boy
can.' 'What more could thicky boy learn?' I says, and he says, 'To
understand his betters, and get great words, and do without a sight of
things--for the more you do without,' he says, 'the more you have to deal
with.' 'Such things as what, now, would he do without?' I wants to know.
He looks at me. 'Food,' he says, kind of sharp; 'food when he's hungry,
and clothing, and a bed; and money, and the respect of them that don't
know anything, and other men's learning, and things he don't make for
himself.' Heard any man ever the like o' that? But just you bide till I've
done. 'Can a boy learn to do without drink?' I wants to know--for beer's
been my downfall. 'He can,' says thicky man. 'And love?' I says; and 'No,'
says he straight, 'he cannot. But he can learn the way of it; and that
'ull teach him to do wi'out lust.' 'Tis a wise thought, the like of that,
I allow."
The gamekeeper paused for the murmurs of his auditory to circle about the
tap-room, swell and subside, and then brought out his conclusion.
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