, was Gilbert. She is
certain to be right, but I never heard of it. I was a foundling child,
picked up somewhere or another, and I always understood my christian-name
to be Gill. It is true that I was called Gills when employed at
Snorridge Bottom betwixt Chatham and Maidstone to frighten birds; but
that had nothing to do with the Baptism wherein I was made, &c., and
wherein a number of things were promised for me by somebody, who let me
alone ever afterwards as to performing any of them, and who, I consider,
must have been the Beadle. Such name of Gills was entirely owing to my
cheeks, or gills, which at that time of my life were of a raspy
description.
My lady stops me again, before I go any further, by laughing exactly in
her old way and waving the feather of her pen at me. That action on her
part, calls to my mind as I look at her hand with the rings on it--Well!
I won't! To be sure it will come in, in its own place. But it's always
strange to me, noticing the quiet hand, and noticing it (as I have done,
you know, so many times) a-fondling children and grandchildren asleep, to
think that when blood and honour were up--there! I won't! not at
present!--Scratch it out.
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