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The old woman said, "Aw'm always forced to keep one o'th lasses a-whoam, for aw connot do a hond's turn." The children had been brought up to factory labour; but both they and their father had been out of work nearly twelve months. During that time the family had received relief tickets, amounting to the value of four shillings a week.
"Ne'er heed my wisdom or my folly, boh do as ey bid yo, or yo'n repent it," said Nance. "Why, you can get in without my aid," observed the squire, trying to laugh it off. "You can easily fly over the walls." "Ey ha' left my broomstick a-whoam," replied Nance "boh no more jesting. Win yo do it?" "Well, well, I suppose I must," replied Nicholas, "but I wash my hands of the consequences.
Some on 'em gets knocked up neaw an' then, an' they han to stop a-whoam a day or two; an' some on 'em connot ston gettin' weet through it mays 'em ill; an' here an' theer one turns up at doesn't like the job at o' they'd rayther clem. There is at's both willin' an' able; thoose are likely to get a better job, somewheer. There's othersome at's willin' enough, but connot ston th' racket.
The house seemed strangely empty, and Paul thought his father looked lost, forlorn, and old. "You'll have to go and see her next week, father," he said. "I hope she'll be a-whoam by that time," said Morel. "If she's not," said Paul, "then you must come." "I dunno wheer I s'll find th' money," said Morel. "And I'll write to you what the doctor says," said Paul.
The night was going, breath by breath. Each time the sound came he felt it wring him, till at last he could not feel so much. His father got up. Paul heard the miner drawing his stockings on, yawning. Then Morel, in shirt and stockings, entered. "Hush!" said Paul. Morel stood watching. Then he looked at his son, helplessly, and in horror. "Had I better stop a-whoam?" he whispered. "No. Go to work.
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