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Thomasin have tawld me of all that's falled out; but I couldn't bide in my awful trouble wi'out comin' up-long. I reckon you'll let the past be forgot now. I'm punished ugly enough. You seed her last, dead an' alive; you heard the last words ever she spoke to any of her awn folks. That drawed me. If I must ax pardon for comin', then I will."
An' the bwoat an' nets be all sold; though, thanks to God, they fetched good money. An' poor Joan tu 'pon the same night as my Tom drownded in the gert land-flood up-long." Gray Michael had been nodding his head and smiling as each item of the mournful category was named. At Thomasin's last words he interrupted angrily, and something of the old, deep tones of his voice echoed again. "'Tis a lie!
All Chagford's traapsed up-long, I warn 'e, to-night." They were now approaching a turning of the ways and the traveller suddenly changed his destination. "Come to think of it, I'll go straight on," he said. "That'll save you a matter o' ten miles, tu. Drive ahead a bit Berry Down way. Theer I'll leave 'e an' you'll be back home in time to have some fun yet."
I've comed into a mort of money, my Uncle Ford bein' suddenly dead." "Oh, Will, I could a'most jump out the window!" "'T would be easier for me to come up-long." "No, no; not for the world, Will!" "Why for not? An' you that lovely, twinklin' in your white gownd, an' me your lawful husband, an' a man o' money! Damned if I ain't got a mind to climb up by the pear-tree!" "You mustn't, you mustn't!
He argued with himself a little; then the rain came down and the wind leaped like a lion over the edge of the land, and the man's blood boiled as he breathed ocean air. "Us'll be wetted proper. I'll run for it, Mister Jan, an' you'd best to go up-long to your lil lew house. Wet's bad for 'e, I reckon." "No," he said, "I can't let you go, Joan. Look over there.
Her mind comprehended barely enough to accept his idea in a sense suggested by her acquaintance with fable, and when he instanced a rabbit as an earthly manifestation of the Everlasting, she felt she could cap the example from her own store of knowledge. "I reckon I sees what you'm meanin', Mister Jan. Theer's things us calls witch-hares in these paarts up-long.
Up-long in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light, Up-long in the owl-light, Theer corned my maid wi' me. "But I wonder you write the common words, Clem you who be so much tu clever to use 'em." "The words are well enough. They were not common once." "Well, you knaw best. Could 'e sell such a li'l auld funny thing as that for money?" He shook his head.
Her respect for Joan began to increase when she realized that the money was hers. Probably there was even more where that came from. "Anyway," she reflected, "it ban't no use cryin' ower spilt milk. What's done's done. An' a thousand pounds'll go long ways to softenin' the road. She might travel up-long to Truro to my cousin an' bide quiet theer till arter, an' no harm done, poor lass.
"I've seed en, 'pon the heath. 'Tis butivul an' solemn an' still, all aloan out theer in a croft to itself. I trapsed up-long wan day an' got beside of en an' ate a pasty wi' Joe. But Joe chid me, an' said 'tweer a heathenish thing sticked theer by the Phoenicians, as comed for tin in Solomon's times." "Don't you believe that, Joan.
"Nay, man, 'tis a live, ragin' storm comed off the sea an' tearin' ower the airth like a legion out o' hell! 'Tis the floodgates o' God opened you'm hearin'! Ay, an' the four winds at each other's throats, an' a outburst o' all the springs 'pon the hills! 'Tis death and ruin for the whole country-side as be yelling up-long now. An' 'tis comin' faster'n thot."
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