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"My father was outside," said Holmes, some old bitterness rising up in his tone, his gray eye lighting with some unrevenged wrong. Polston did not speak for a moment. "Dunnot bear malice agin her. They're dead, now. It wasn't left fur her to judge him out yonder. Yoh've yer father's eyes, Stephen, 'times. Hungry, pitiful, like women's. His got desper't' 't th' last.
We are not in the least vexed with you; we shall be very sorry to lose you, and we will give you the best of characters when you leave." "I dunnot mean to leave." Elizabeth threw out the words like pellets, in a choked fashion, and disappeared suddenly from the parlor. "Who would have thought it!" exclaimed Selina; "I declare the girl was crying."
Oh, my poor lass, how hard she tried to pray fur me, Mester yes, fur me, as she lay theer wi' her arms round her dead babby's grave, an' her cheek on th' grass as grew o'er his breast. 'Lord God-a'-moighty, she says, 'help us dunnot gi' us up dunnot, dunnot. We conna do 'thowt thee now, if th' time ever wur when we could.
'But thou said thee and she were like brother and sister; and a brother would ask a sister, and niver think twice about it. 'Well, well, replied Philip, 'I'll see what I can do; but, lad, I dunnot think she'll have thee. She doesn't fancy thee, and fancy is three parts o' love, if reason is t' other fourth. But somehow Philip could not begin on the subject with Hester.
So good day, an' tak care o' yorsel'. Barfoot folk should never walk upo' prickles." He then turned, and walked off. Before he had gone twenty yards he shouted back, "Hey! I say! Dunnot forget th' cat." It was a fine autumn day; clear and cool. Dead leaves were whirling about the road-side.
She had a little girl with her, of about five years old, that she had lifted up on the counter, and who was watching Philip with anxious eyes, occasionally whispering in her mother's ear, and then hiding her face against her cloak. 'She's thought a deal o' coming to see yo', and a dunnot think as yo' mind her at all.
An' th' devil's topmost agen. I've talked to my lass about it sometimes, an' I dunnot think I meant harm, Mester, for I felt humble enough an' when I talked, my lass she'd listen an' smile soft an' sorrowful, but she never gi' me but one answer.
'Bless yo', no, dunnot be afeared, missus; it's only as a spoke hasty to t' wench, an' a want t' tell her as a'm sorry, said Kester, advancing into the kitchen, and looking round for Sylvia. 'Sylvie, Sylvie! shouted he; 'she mun be i' t' house. Sylvia came slowly down the stairs, and stood before him. Her face was pale, her mouth set and determined; the light of her eyes veiled in gloom.
"What is it? Summat's hurt yo' sore." The labor-roughened hands moved with their old nervous habit, and the answer came in an odd, jerky, half-connected way: "I dunnot know why it should ha' done. I mun be mad, or summat. I nivver had no hope nor nothin': theer nivver wur no reason why I should ha' had. Ay, I mun be wrong somehow, or it wouldna stick to me i' this road.
A wrong to both, you say, perhaps; but if so, irreparable, and never to be recompensed. Never? "Yoh must go, my little girl," he said at last. Whatever he did must be done quickly. She came up, combing the thin gray hairs through her fingers. "Father, I dunnot understan' what it is, rightly. But stay with me, stay, father!" "Yoh've a many frien's, Lo," he said, with a keen flash of jealousy.
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