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"My word!" cried Mary admiringly, "that there is a bit o' good Yorkshire. Tha'rt shapin' first-rate that tha' art." And delight reigned. They drew the chair under the plum-tree, which was snow-white with blossoms and musical with bees. It was like a king's canopy, a fairy king's.
An analytical observer or a painter might have seen that he had a burning curiousness of look, a sort of investigatory fever of expression. "I dunnot know what tha means," he said. "Happen tha'rt talkin' 'Merican?" "That's just what it is," admitted Tembarom. " What are you talking?" "Lancashire," said Tummas. "Theer's some sense i' that." Tembarom sat down near him.
"Answer!" Ben Weatherstaff put his gnarled hand up and passed it over his eyes and over his forehead and then he did answer in a queer shaky voice. "Who tha' art?" he said. "Aye, that I do wi' tha' mother's eyes starin' at me out o' tha' face. Lord knows how tha' come here. But tha'rt th' poor cripple." Colin forgot that he had ever had a back. His face flushed scarlet and he sat bolt upright.
I stepped along in silence beside her, she taking three steps for my one, and giggling to sicken a man. "Tha'lt never get a sweetheart," she said by and by. "Oh! and why not?" I asked. "'Cos tha'rt such a great big feller," she said. "What in the name of all that's wonderful has that to do with it?" The minx looked archly up into my face. "Tha'rt too high for a maid to kiss," says she.
Hibblethwaite from the other end of the room, to which she had returned after taking Miss Alicia out to complain about the copper in the "wash-'us' " "Tummas, tha'st been talkin' like a magpie. Tha'rt a lot too bold an' ready wi' tha tongue. Th' gentry's noan comin' to see thee if tha clacks th' heads off theer showthers."
He's never cost Knype anything except his wages and the goodwill of the Foaming Quart." "What are his wages?" "Don't know exactly. Not much. The Football Association fix a maximum. I daresay about four pounds a week Hi there! Are you deaf?" "Thee mind what tha'rt about!" responded a stout loiterer in our path. "Or I'll take thy ears home for my tea, mester." Stirling laughed.
"I want a draw at thy fag," she cried, snatching for the cigarette between his lips. He was sitting with his shoulder touching her. She was small and quick as lightning. He just escaped. "I'll gi'e thee a smoke kiss," he said. "Tha'rt a knivey nuisance, Arty Morel," she said, sitting back. "Ha'e a smoke kiss?" The soldier leaned forward to her, smiling. His face was near hers.
"Are you surprised because I am so well?" he asked. She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled the mist out of her eyes. "Aye, that I am!" she said; "but tha'rt so like thy mother tha' made my heart jump." "Do you think," said Colin a little awkwardly, "that will make my father like me?" "Aye, for sure, dear lad," she answered and she gave his shoulder a soft quick pat.
"Eh!" he said, "that sounds as if tha'd got wits enow. Tha'rt a Yorkshire lad for sure. An' tha'rt diggin', too. How'd tha' like to plant a bit o' somethin'? I can get thee a rose in a pot." "Go and get it!" said Colin, digging excitedly. "Quick! Quick!" It was done quickly enough indeed. Ben Weatherstaff went his way forgetting rheumatics.
Tha'rt goin' further than tha counts on just now, dost hear? The dog faintly wagged its tail, the man stuck out his jaw and covered his pipe with his hands, and puffed intently, losing himself in the tobacco, looking down all the while at the dog with an absent brown eye. The dog looked up at him in mournful distrust. Joe stood with his knees stuck out, in real horsy fashion.
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