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Updated: June 15, 2025
"And why that?" he asked, following down the hill. "I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and what d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un up from the Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd coom from the Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?"
His master's sheep were not for such a rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the sheep along with him. The story was told to a running chorus of "Ma word! Good, Owd Un! Ho! ho! did he thot?" Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent. Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it. "And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr.
'D'yo think they're my flesh an blood, thoose childer? An who'll ha to do for 'em but me, I should loike to know? Who'll ha to put up wi their messin an their dirt but me? Twenty year ha yo an I been married, Reuben, an niver till this neet did I ha to goo down on my knees an sweep oop after scrubbin-day! Iv I'm to be moidered wi em, I'll be paid for 't. Soa I let yo know it's little enough.
'D'yo think as theer's onybody in Haworth as would lend me a seet o' yan o' Miss Bronte's tales for an hour? he said, reddening furiously, as they stopped at the sexton's gate. 'Why to be sure, mon, said the sexton cheerily, pleased with the little opening for intelligent patronage. 'Coom your ways in, and we'll see if we can't oblige yo.
Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant. "What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?" "Yo' know what I mean, lass," he replied sheepish and shuffling before her queenly anger. She looked him up and down, and down and up again. "I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam," she cried; "not if it was ever so Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to do wi' you."
"There's more than mae and Assy thot's freetened t' marry yo," she said. He darkened. "Yo 'oald yore tongue. Yo dawn't knaw what yo're saayin', my laass." "Dawn't I? There's more than mae thot knaws, Mr. Greatorex. Assy isn't t' awnly woon yo've maade talk o' t' plaace." "What do yo mane? Speaak oop. What d'yo mane Yo knaw?" "Yo'd best aassk Naddy.
When he came opposite, the Deacon jumped out, seized the reins, and pointing his revolver at him, commanded sternly: "Git down from there, and git down quick." The old man dropped the lines, and for an instant gazed at him with scared eyes. "Why, yo' robber, what d'yo' mean?" he gasped. "Git down from there, and git down quick!" repeated the Deacon.
James Moore eyed him suspiciously. "What d'yo' mean?" he asked sternly. M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. "There's mony a slip 'twixt Cup and lip, that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might come to him." The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many rumors he had heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the year.
"D'yo 'dentify 'm, ma'am?" said Miss Trimble. "Bingley!" "Is 't th' guy y' wanted?" "It's my husband!" said Mrs. Crocker. "Y' can't arrest 'm f'r that!" said Miss Trimble disgustedly. She thrust her revolver back into the hinterland of her costume. "Guess I'll be beatin' it," she said with a sombre frown. She was plainly in no sunny mood. "'f all th' hunk jobs I was ever on, this is th' hunkest.
"What d'yo think o' Jimmy, Dr. Rawcliffe?" "He oughtn't to be left alone. Isn't there any sister or anybody who could come to him?" "Naw; 'e's got naw sisters, Jimmy 'assn't." "Well, you must get him to lie down and eat." "Get 'im? Yo can do nowt wi' Jimmy. 'E'll goa 'is own road. 'Is feyther an' 'e they wuss always quar'ling, yo med say.
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