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I'm weary of all this bunkum 'bout auld stones an' circles an' the rest; I'm sick an' tired o' leavin' my work a hunderd times in summer months to shaw gaping fules from Lunnon an' Lard knaws wheer, them roundy-poundies 'pon my land. 'Tis all rot, as every moorman knaws; yet you an' such as you screams if us dares to put a finger to the stone nowadays. Ban't the granite ours under Venwell?
"If I was bidin' in one of them stone roundy-poundies, with nothin' but a dog-kennel for a home, she ought to be shoulder to shoulder wi' me. Did you leave my faither cause other people didn't love un?" "That was differ'nt. Theer s Miller Lyddon. I could much wish you seed more of him an' let un come by a better 'pinion of 'e. 'T s awnly worldly wisdom, true; but "
I fear't was a ugly star twinkled awver his birthplace, ma'am." "'Twas all the stars of heaven, Miller," said the mother, frankly, "for he was born in my husband's caravan in the auld days. We was camped up on the Moor, drawn into one of them roundy-poundies o' grey granite stones set up by Phoenicians at the beginning of the world.
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