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"I care not now how soon my awn glass may run out. I've so fret myself ower this mischance that the wrinkles'll soon come." "She needn't wait much for them if she's anxious to be off," whispered Liza to Rotha. "Yes," continues Mrs. Garth, in her melancholy soliloquy, "I fret mysel' the lee-lang day." "She's a deal over slape and smooth," whispered Liza again. "What's it all about?
Course I've got childer an' ruined maids in every parish of the Moor! God damn theer lying, poisonous tongues, the lot of 'em! I'm sick of this rotten, lie-breeding hole, an' of purty near every sawl in it but mother. She never would think against me. An' me, so true to Phoebe as the honey-bee to his awn butt!
Thomasin have tawld me of all that's falled out; but I couldn't bide in my awful trouble wi'out comin' up-long. I reckon you'll let the past be forgot now. I'm punished ugly enough. You seed her last, dead an' alive; you heard the last words ever she spoke to any of her awn folks. That drawed me. If I must ax pardon for comin', then I will."
I'm only a penniless, backboneless, hand-to-mouth wretch, living on the work of laborious insects." "If it ban't your awn fault, then whose be it, Clem?" "The fault of Chance to pack my build of brains into the skull of a pauper. This poor, unfinished abortion of a head-piece of mine only dreams dreams that it cannot even set on paper for others to see."
Look at them grasshoppers. Off they goes to glory and doan't knaw no more 'n the dead wheer they'll fetch up. I've seed 'em by the river jump slap in the water, almost on to a trout's back. So us hops along and caan't say what's comin' next. We 'm built to see just beyond our awn nose-ends and no further. That's philosophy." "Ban't comfortin' if 't is," said Phoebe.
So we let her persuade us, an' she teks Rip's measure theer an' then, an' sent to Hamilton's to order a silver collar again t' time when he was to be her awn, which was to be t' day she set off for Munsooree Pahar. 'Sitha, Mulvaney, says I, when we was outside, 'you're niver goin' to let her hev Rip! 'An' would ye disappoint a poor old woman? says he; 'she shall have a Rip.
Blanchard interrupted. "Ban't the time to argue, Will. Do it, an' do it sharp, if't will add wan grain o' hope to the baaby's chance." The younger woman's sufferings rose to a frantic half-hushed scream at the protracted delay. "O Christ, why for do 'e hold back? Ban't anything worth tryin' for your awn son? I'd scratch the stone out wi' my raw, bleedin' finger-bones if I was a man.
Now I knaw 'twas God spoke; now I knaw that her's none o' my gettin'. 'Who honoreth his faither shall 'a' joy o' his awn childern. Shall I, as weer a pattern son, be cussed wi' a strumpet for a darter?" "You'm speakin' a hard thing o' dead bones, then. The Chirgwins is upland folks o' long standin', knawn so far as the Land's End, an' up Drift an' down Lizard likewise."
Gray Michael appeared quietly satisfied that his son was shaping well and showing courage and nerve. But he silenced the lad quickly enough when Tom began to talk with some gasconade concerning greet deeds done westward of the Scilly Islands. "'Let another man praise thee an' not thine awn mouth, my bwoy," said Mr. Tregenza.
Theer'll be hell to pay if it's let bide now, sure as eggs is eggs an' winter, winter. You'll rue it; you'll gnash awver it; 't will turn against 'e an' rot the root an' blight the ear an' starve the things an' break your heart. Mark me, you'm doin' a cutthroat deed an' killin' all your awn luck by leavin' it here an hour longer." But Will showed no alarm at Mr. Blee's predictions.
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