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Updated: June 26, 2025
"Why, yo doan't main that you chucked 'er?" "She wur too goody-goody for me," replied Tom. "I am noan baan to be a saint, I am going to enjoy mysen." "Weel, tha' won't be a saint if tha' has much to do with Polly Powell. She's noan a saint," and the lad laughed meaningly. "Still her feyther's got a bit of brass.
"Well, me feyther's a Liberal leastways 'im as brought me up," was the passionless rejoinder, slowly spoken; "but ah doan't know no one o' the name o' Christ, an', what's more, ah's sure 'e doan't work down our way," with which he sauntered forward with his hands in his trowser pockets, and sat in the bow; and the old man steered on as before.
Her comes to my feyther's house, this Miss Blythe, an' tells mother what a beautiful thing this reconcilin' is, and they fall to weepin' and cry-in' to my feyther both together, an' all on a sudden, t' everybody's mightiest astonishing, what's he to do but say, 'Theer, I forgi'en him. Hold your jaw, the pair on you! Well, now, see what a pitch I'm let to fall on.
An' if thee'st set thy heart on a lass as'll bring thee nought and waste all, when thee mightst ha' them as 'ud make a man on thee, I'll say nought, now thy feyther's dead an' drownded, for I'm no better nor an old haft when the blade's gone." Adam, unable to bear this any longer, rose silently from the bench and walked out of the workshop into the kitchen. But Lisbeth followed him.
And it's noane a time for a wench to go courtin' when her feyther's i' prison, said he, with a consciousness as he uttered these last words that he was cruel and unjust and going too far, yet carried on to say them by his hot jealousy against Philip. Sylvia continued looking at him without speaking: she was too much offended for expression.
'Say? why, a' she could say was to burst out crying, and after a bit, she just repeated her feyther's words, and said anyhow he was dead, for he'd niver live to go to sea wi' a press-gang. She knowed him too well for that. Thou sees she thinks a deal on him for a spirited chap, as can do what he will.
"Tom went to the mill to tak the place of the noight watchman. His feyther's dyin' ye ken, and Tom's not come by yet. I thot ye might hev haird." Mary lifted her eyes with troubled glance: "Not yet," she said, "but I'm thinkin of running over to Duncannons as soon as I get these pies in the oven. The clothes won't be dry for a while, an' I'll take my pan of peas to shell. She'll know of course.
And it's noane a time for a wench to go courtin' when her feyther's i' prison, said he, with a consciousness as he uttered these last words that he was cruel and unjust and going too far, yet carried on to say them by his hot jealousy against Philip. Sylvia continued looking at him without speaking: she was too much offended for expression.
'And we came in for market, continued Molly, 'and for t' buy t' new cloak as her feyther's going to give her; and, for sure, I thought we was i' luck's way when we saw t' first whaler, and niver dreaming as t' press-gang 'ud be so marred. She, too, began to cry, but her little whimper was stopped by the sound of the opening door behind her.
Now, Kester, thou mun just be off, and find Harry Donkin th' tailor, and bring him here; it's gettin' on for Martinmas, an' he'll be coming his rounds, and he may as well come here first as last, and feyther's clothes want a deal o' mending up, and Harry's always full of his news, and anyhow he'll do for feyther to scold, an' be a new person too, and that's somewhat for all on us.
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