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"Yo'n be sorry when it's too late," said Hal. "Tush!" cried Demdike, "my only regret will be that Uriel's slaughter is paid for by such a worthless life as thine." "Then whoy tak it?" demanded Hal. "'Specially whon yo'n lose your chilt by doing so." "My child!" exclaimed Demdike, surprised. "How mean you, sirrah?"
"Nah, nah," said Jennet, pressing the bird gently to her bosom, "neaw one shan see it efore Alizon." "Cum along then," cried Jem, rather testily, and mending his pace, "or we'st be too late fo' t' round. Whoy yo'n scratted yourself," he added, noticing the red spots on her sleeve. "Han ey?" she rejoined, evasively. "Oh now ey rekilect, it wos Tib did it."
Well, this was the case here: Bob had seen a pike so big that no mortal rod and line could ever bear it; he could tell of somewhere about ten or a dozen fishermen who had once had hold of him, so that Mr Jack must have thought no more of the sharpest barbed hooks than he would of so many quill toothpicks. "Lord, sir," said Bob, "whoy doan't thee trowl for the big jack?
I held the cage in my lap, and talked to the others to reassure them, fearing more casualties, but after a while they settled down, and we reached the schoolroom in due time. I was scarcely prepared for the tremendous sensation the gerbilles created. Remarks in broad Hertfordshire greeted their appearance. "Whoy, here's a lot of moise." "Noa, they ain't; they's rats!"
Saddletree, delighted at having for once in his life seen his wife's attention arrested by a topic of legal discussion "Whoy, there are two sorts of murdrum or murdragium, or what you populariter et vulgariser call murther. I mean there are many sorts; for there's your murthrum per vigilias et insidias, and your murthrum under trust."
Nothing but the pale thickness of her skin betrayed the fact that set Lois apart from even the poorest poor, the taint in her veins of black blood. "Whoy! be n't this Tiger?" said Joel, as the dog ran yelping about him. "How comed yoh with him, Lois?" "Tiger an' his master's good friends o' mine, you remember they allus was. An' he's back now, Mr. Holmes, been back for a month."
It was easy to say who she was; the strain of attestation had turned on who she wasn't. Dave became fluent: "Whoy, the loydy what was a cistern, and took me in the roylwoy troyne and in the horse-coach to Granny Marrowbone." For he had never quite dissociated Sister Nora from ball-taps and plumbings. He added after reflection: "Only not dressed up like then!"
'Purty, missie! the old man repeated, with astonishment; 'whoy, them be wild loike. 'But I love them dearly, she persisted; 'so please leave them there. 'But the maister? pursued Peter, rubbing his rough head in his perplexity; 'he told me to clear roight up. Peter, it must be observed, was 'the odd man' about the farm; there is always one.
"Do you call a dead uncle and ten thousand pounds a joke?" "God bless me!" said John. "You don't mean it, Alice?" "I do mean it, and that you'll find, John Jephson. I'm goin' to bid you good-bye to-morrer." "Whoy, Alice!" exclaimed honest John, aghast. "It's truth I tell ye," said Alice. "And for how long?" gasped John, fore-feeling illimitable misfortune.
Nothing but the livid thickness of her skin betrayed the fact that set Lois apart from even the poorest poor, the taint in her veins of black blood. "Whoy! be n't this Tiger?" said Joel, as the dog ran yelping about him. "How comed yoh with him, Lois?" "Tiger an' his master's good friends o' mine, you remember they allus was. An' he's back now, Mr. Holmes, been back for a month."
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