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"Well, Sally," he exclaimed, as he re-entered his cottage, "I've been to th' owd spot! They have hewn all abaat it, but th' owd tree stands yet God 'll keep that tree while I live, and then they may do what they like wi' it." So Abe went on, quietly severing himself from one tie after another which bound him to this world, and getting ready for his departure to another and a better.
However, I soon scrambled aat o' th' dike, and after a good bit o' trying I maanted agean and set off on th' road; but I hadn't gone far before I faan some'at wor wrang wi' th' bridle. I couldn't guide th' beast roight somehaa, so I felt abaat to try if I could foind aat what it wor, and behold I had gotten th' bridle all on one soide.
'Well, yo' see, it's i' this road, Mr. Penrose. They say as th' angels are glad when bad folk turn good, and I suppose they'll fret theirsels a bit if th' bad folk keeps bad; and there's mony o' that mak' abaat here. Mr, Penrose was silent.
'Nay, lass; luv' noan drives folk mad. It's sin as does that. As Mr. Penrose towd 'em at Rehoboth t'other Sunday, it were luv' as saved th' world, and not wrath; and they say they are baan to bring him up at th' deacons' meeting abaat it. But he's reet. It's luv' as saves.
"Don't he want to know how mony teeth aar Jimmy's gotten, or owt abaat t' pot-dogs I bowt i' t' markit." "Nay, that's all," replied her mother, "without there's summat else i' t' helmet." As she spoke she searched the helmet, and soon produced another letter. It also was addressed to "Mrs Annie Akroyd," but in a woman's hand. She opened the envelope and proceeded to read it aloud.
Dun yo' know, I never belonged to God then as I do naa, for all I were baptized and a communicant. It's queer, isn't it? 'Ey, lass; thaa'd better tell that to Mr. Penrose. I know naught abaat what yo're talkin' on. Bud it does seem, as thaa ses, quare that thaa belongs more to God naa nor thaa did when thaa went away. 'Nay, mother, it's noan exactly as yo' put it.
"Ne'r moind, I knaw;" and going close up to his ear and placing his hand on the man's arm, he said, "My Father 'll gie the' this haase, He telled me soa; I've been to Him abaat it, and I have His word on 't; but afore thaa gets it, I want the' to promise me that while I live I shall have my meetin' here."
"Me, noa, I canna praach, mun," said Abe, evidently agitated. "Aye, but thou can; thou'll have to try, and we'll pray for thee." Abe turned pale, looked up at the little pulpit, then down on the ground, and then said, "I've now't to talk abaat, noa, I canna tak' it."
Penrose, yo' preachers talk abaat th' Cross, and it's o' reet that yo' should; but yo' cannot blame me for talkin' abaat my flute, con yo', when it's bin my salvation? And whenever awm a bit daanhearted, or hardhearted, or fratchy wi' th' missus, or plaguey wi' fo'k, aw goes to th' owd flute, and it helps me o'er th' stile. But it's gettin' lat'; let's be goin' wom'.
By this time the man came up to him and said, "Why, Abe, whatever art ta swearing abaat soa on a Sunday noight?" "Swearing! me swearing!" exclaimed Abe. "I'm noan swearing, my lad." "But I yeerd the' mysen." "When?" "Naa, this minute; thaa called somebody a lying owd devil, and sich loike."
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