Page 545 - bleak-house

pipe on the hob, stands his pipe itself in the chimney corner,
and sits down to the meal. When he has helped himself, Phil
follows suit, sitting at the extreme end of the little oblong
table and taking his plate on his knees. Either in humility,
or to hide his blackened hands, or because it is his natural
manner of eating.
‘The country,’ says Mr. George, plying his knife and fork;
‘why, I suppose you never clapped your eyes on the coun-
try, Phil?’
‘I see the marshes once,’ says Phil, contentedly eating his
breakfast.
‘What marshes?’
‘THE marshes, commander,’ returns Phil.
‘Where are they?’
‘I don’t know where they are,’ says Phil; ‘but I see ‘em,
guv’ner. They was flat. And miste.’
Governor and commander are interchangeable terms
with Phil, expressive of the same respect and deference and
applicable to nobody but Mr. George.
‘I was born in the country, Phil.’
‘Was you indeed, commander?’
‘Yes. And bred there.’
Phil elevates his one eyebrow, and after respectfully star-
ing at his master to express interest, swallows a great gulp of
coffee, still staring at him.
‘There’s not a bird’s note that I don’t know,’ says Mr.
George. ‘Not many an English leaf or berry that I couldn’t
name. Not many a tree that I couldn’t climb yet if I was put
to it. I was a real country boy, once. My good mother lived

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