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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Maybe you wouldn't like to see me in his place, mother? Oh, no; certainly not." "Thou great bledderen fool," cried Mrs. Garth, getting on to her feet and lifting her voice to a threatening pitch; "whearaway hast been?" Joe growled again, and crept closer over the fire, his mother's brawny figure towering above him. A bleared winter sun was sinking down through a scarf of mist.
Garth turned about, oblivious of her own conceit. In a voice and manner that had undergone a complete and sudden change, she whispered to Joe, "Thou'rt a great bledderen fool." The blacksmith had been wrapped in his thoughts. His reply was startlingly irrelevant. "Fool or none, I'll not do it," said Joe emphatically. "Do what?" asked his mother in a tone of genuine inquiry. "What I told you."
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