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'Do ged on wi' yor tale, Malachi; what does Mr. Penrose want to know abaat lasses o' forty year sin'? He's geddin' one o' his own and that's enough for him, aw'm sure. 'Aw nobbud want him to know that there were bonnie lasses i' aar time as well as i' his that were all, Betty. 'Well, ged on wi' yo', an' durnd be so long abaat it, Malachi. 'One day, Mr.
'Well, it's this, continued his informant: "Such lilies th' angels gather for th' garden of God." They'll never write that o'er me, Mr. Penrose. I'm nobbud a withered stalk. Hoo were eight I'm eighty. But for all that I should like a flaar on mi grave, and Joseph says I shall hev one.
"What arto doin' up here, Malachi?" hoo sez. "I've nobbud come up to see thi faither abaat some flaars," aw stuttered. "He'll noan be up for an hour or two yet," hoo said. "He's gone to Rehoboth. Is it a flaar as aw con get for thee?" "Yi!" aw sez, "yo' con get me th' flaar aw want." "Which is it?" said hoo. "Is it one o' those lilies mi faither geet fro' th' hall?"
We con nobbud do what we're permitted to do. We're only instruments in th' Almeety's honds. 'But isn't th' Almeety His own Measter? 'So He is, but His ways are past findin' out. 'An' thaa means to say thaa'd save my lass, and th' Almeety wouldn't save me? 'It's decrees, thaa knows, lad, it's decrees, said Amos, unshaken by the argument of his friend.
Th' fust lass as brought her piece to thee were Julia Smith. Aw remember as haa hoo went in afore me, as though it were nobbud yester morn. 'Well, never mind, thaa wur t' fust I seed, an' that's near enugh, isn't it, Mr. Penrose? The minister nodded, and smiled at old Betty, who so jealously followed the story of her husband's early life.
It's a long road, I know, when fo'k luk for'ards; but it's soon getten o'er, and when thaa looks back'ards it's nobbud short. I tell thee I've tramped it, and I durnd know as I'm a war woman for the journey. It's hard wark partin' wi' your own; but then theer's th' comfort o' havin' had 'em. I'd rayther hev a child and bury it, nor be baat childer, like Miriam Heap yonder.
Keep him close to thee, he'll need thee and thaa'll need him afore yo're both done wi' th' world. Since thi faither deed, Jimmy, I've felt to need thee more and more. It's ten year this last back-end sin' we buried him. And it's nobbud just like yesterday. He wor in th' barn when he wor taan, sudden-like, with apoplex; and he never spoke, or knew me or you at after.
Her hair was flying in frozen tresses about her unshawled bosom, and no outer covering protected her from the chill blast. 'Mrs. Wallwork, said he, 'you ought not to be crossing the moors a night like this, uncovered as you are. You are tempting Nature to do her worst with you, you know. 'Ne'er heed me, doctor. It's mi lad yon aw want yo' to heed. I shall be all reet if he's nobbud reet.
'That, mi lad, is th' hoile where all th' bad fo'k go. 'Who dug it? Did owd Joseph, gronny? 'Nowe, lad; owd Joseph nobbud digs hoiles for fo'k's bodies. That hoile is fer their souls. 'What's them, gronny? 'Nay, lad! A connot tell thee reet but it's summat abaat us as we carry wi' us summat, thaa knows, that never dees. 'And why do they put it in a hoile, gronny? Is it to mak' it better?
But, as I say, he started fairly weel, when th' conductor, a chap fra Manchester, who thought he knew summat, said, "Hooisht, hooisht!" But th' owd lad stuck to his tune. Doesto yer? hooisht!" But he'd mistaan his mon, Mr. Penrose, for Enoch nobbud stopped short to say, "Thee go on with thi conductin'. If hoo'll sing I'll play."
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