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Updated: June 3, 2025
In a moment Oliver o' Deaf Martha's seized his boy and wrapped him in the bosom of his coat, hugging and kissing him as though he would impart the warmth of his own life to the little fellow. He's noan used to it. He thinks he ought to hev a lickin' or summat. But Oliver continued his caresses. 'Well, Oliver, I've never sin thee takken th' road afore. 'Nowe, lad! I've never lost a chilt afore.
It contained nothing more of the essential than I have already recorded, and Malcolm was perplexed to think why what he had known all the time should affect him so much in the telling. But when he ended with the bitter cry "And now you'll pe loving her no more, my poy: my chilt, my Malcolm!" he understood it.
"Ey mean this," replied Hal, coolly; "that if ey dee to-morrow mornin' your chilt dees too. Whon ey ondertook this job ey calkilated mey chances, an' tuk precautions eforehond. Your chilt's a hostage fo mey safety." "Curses on thee and thy cunning," cried Demdike; "but I will not be outwitted by a hind like thee. I will have the child, and yet not be baulked of my revenge."
"Weel, daddy, gien ye cud lo'e me sae weel, kennin' me nae bluid's bluid o' yer ain I canna help it: I maun lo'e ye mair nor ever, noo' at I ken 't tu. Daddy, daddy, I had nae claim upo' ye, an' ye hae been father an' gran'father an' a' to me!" "What could she do, Malcolm, my poy? Ta chilt had no one, and she had no one, and so it wass. You must pe her own poy after all!
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