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Call your James will you, aunt? We must have the old man put to bed. But the poor girl looks the worse of the two! She can have the spare room, and William can sleep on the sofa in mine. Mrs. C. I'll see to it. Exit. GER. goes towards THOMAS. Tho. Coom whoam coom whoam, Mattie! Thi mother, hoo's cryin' her eighes eawt to whoam. Mat. I'll run for a doctor first, father. Tho. No, no, chylt!
He was once a fery little smaal chylt, in her old plind aarms. Put tey wasn't old ten. Why must young peoples crow old, my laty? Put she'll pe clad of it herself; for she'll can hate ta petter."
You trusted the wrong people, then. Tho. It taks no mak o' a warlock to tell mo that, maister. It's smo' comfort, noather. War. Well now, you give me a turn, and hear what I've got to say. Tho. Yo're o' tarred wi' th' same stick. Ivvery body maks gam ov th' poor owd mon! Let me goo, maister. Aw want mo chylt, mo Mattie! War. You must wait till Mr. Gervaise's man comes back. Tho.
G. But you've just said you didn't see her face! Th. Dunnot aw know what th' face ov mo chylt be like, beout seem' ov it? Aw'm noan ov a lump-yed. Nobory as seigh her once wouldn't know her again. Col. He's a lunatic! I don't see what I can do for you, old fellow. Th. And aw met ha' known it beout axin'! O'reet!
He's had thoose hens mony a year; an' they rooten abeawt th' heawse just th' same as greadley Christians. He did gi' consent for one on 'em to be kilt yesterday; but aw'll be hanged iv th' owd cracky didn't cry like a chylt when he see'd it beawt yed. He'd as soon part wi' one o'th childer as one o'th hens. He says they're so mich like owd friends, neaw.
Aw'd summut to do to persuade him at first, an' aw know that he's as whoam-sick as a chylt that's lost its mother, just this minute; but then, what's th' matter o' that, it wouldn't do for mo to have him laid up, yo known. . . . Oh, he's a very feelin' mon.
That's his wife wi' th' chylt in her arms, an' hur wi' th' plod shawl on's mine." I asked if the old man was his father. "Ay," replied he, "we're o' here, nobbut two. My mother's ill i' bed, an' one o' my sisters is lookin' after her." " Well, an' heaw han yo getten on?" said I. "Oh, we'n done weel; but we's come no moor," replied he.
Wheer's th' Sunday-school, chylt? Bill. Second door round the corner, sir. Tho. Second dur reawnd th' corner! Which corner, my man? Bill. Round any corner. Second door's all-ways Sunday-school. THOMAS sits down on a door-step. Tho. Eh, but aw be main weary! Surely th' Lord dunnot be a forsakin' ov mo. There's that abeawt th' lost ship.
Goo whoam, says to! Aw goo no-wheers but to th' grave afoor aw've feawnd mo chylt. Col. G. Come along with me; I will do all I can to find her. Perhaps I can help you after all. Tho. Aw mak nea deawbt o' that, mon. And thae seems a gradely chap. Aw'm a'most spent. An' aw'm sick, sick! Dunnot let th' boys shove mo abeawt again. Col. G. I will not. They shan't come near you. Take my arm.
G. You've mistaken somebody for him. Th. Well, aw'm beawn to tell tho moore. Twothre days ago, aw seigh mo chylt coom eawt ov this same dur aw mane th' heawsedur, yon. Col. G. Are you sure of that? Th. Sure as death. Aw seigh her back. Col. G. Her back! Who could be sure of a back? Th. By th' maskins! dosto think I dunnot know mo Mattie's back? I seign her coom eawt o' that dur, aw tell tho! Col.
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