Digital primer

They now came to a half-Swiss, half-Gothic little cottage of a lodge, and
the old horse turned instinctively into the open white gate with pea-green
bands.
'Here's Mrs. Crow--Crow--Crowdey!' gasped Jogglebury, convulsively, as a
tall woman, in flare-up red and yellow stunner tartan, with a swarm of
little children, similarly attired, suddenly appeared at an angle of the
road, the lady handling a great alpaca umbrella-looking parasol in the
stand-and-deliver style.
'What's kept you?' exclaimed she, as the vehicle got within ear-shot.
'What's kept you?' repeated she, in a sharper key, holding her parasol
across the road, but taking no notice of our friend Sponge, who, in truth,
she took for Edgebone, the butcher. 'Oh! you've been after your sticks,
have you?' added she, as her spouse drew the vehicle up alongside of her,
and she caught the contents of the apron-straps.
'My dear (puff)' gasped her husband, 'I've brought Mr. (wheeze) Sponge,'
said he, winking his right eye, and jerking his head over his left
shoulder, looking very frightened all the time.


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