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Glenthorpe, thissun 'ud tell us how to get it without sharin' wi' Queensmead, who does narthin' but take th' bread owt o' ower mouths, he bein' so sharp about th' conies. For if this chap in th' woods is the one wot killed owd Mr. Glenthorpe, we have a right to th' money for cotchin' un. Didn't I say that, Billy?" "Yow did, bor, yow did; them wor yower vaery words," acquiesced Mr. Backlos.
Duney, backing away with a slightly pale face. "Doan't yow meddle wi' un, ma'aster. It's a quare place, thissun." "Why, what's the matter with it?" "Did you never hear that th' pit's haunted? Like enough nobody'd tell yow. Folk hereabowts aren't owerfond of talkin' of th' White Lady of th' Shrieking Pit, for fear it should bring un bad luck." "I've been hearing a little about her to-day.
Annybody can see wi' half an eye that he's a real swell, for didn't he stand treat all round an' wot he says we'll go by, and 'e won't treat us dirty, whatever he says, though, mind ye, bor, there's narthin' to gi' away. So let's go to thissun, an' tell un all about it." "I also tol' yow, Billy, that if thar be a reward out for this chap wot killed Mr.
But when Diana rejoiced that such days were done, the old woman gave a tolerant: "Noa noa! They were none so bad were t' Vavasours. Only they war no good at heirin." "Airing?" said Diana, mystified. "Heirin," repeated Betty Dyson, emphatically. "Theer was old Squire Henry wi' noabody to follow 'im an' Mr. Edward noa better and now thissun, wi nobbut lasses.
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