Then the clayey hue, so long overshadowing the face, faded away in the warmth of a returning tide of life, as a gray dawn is suffused by sunrise. The beat became stronger and more frequent, there was a movement in the passive limbs, and, opening his eyes dreamily, then wonderingly, and at last consciously, the lad looked into the old woman's face and said: 'Gronny! 'Yi! it's Gronny, lad.

'That, mi lad, is th' hoile where all th' bad fo'k go. 'Who dug it? Did owd Joseph, gronny? 'Nowe, lad; owd Joseph nobbud digs hoiles for fo'k's bodies. That hoile is fer their souls. 'What's them, gronny? 'Nay, lad! A connot tell thee reet but it's summat abaat us as we carry wi' us summat, thaa knows, that never dees. 'And why do they put it in a hoile, gronny? Is it to mak' it better?

'Hooisht! lass, thaa mornd try to speerit through th' clouds that are raand abaat His throne. He tak's one i' one way, an another i' another; but if He tak's em to Hissel they're better off than they'd be wi' us. 'Well, Gronny, aw tell thee, aw cornd see it i' that way yet; and again the mother caressed the body of her son.

'Nay, lad; they put it i' th' hoile because it's noan good. 'Then it's summat like mi dad when I'm naughty, an' he says he'll put me i' th' cellar hoile. 'But he never does does he, lad? asked the grandmother anxiously. 'Nowe, gronny. He nobbud sez he will. And then, after a pause, he continued, 'But, gronny, if God sez He'll put 'em in He'll do as He sez willn't He?

Then it was the old woman took down the family Bible, and showed to him the plates representative of the marvels of old. These began to work on the child's imagination; and once, when the book lay open at Revelation, he fastened his little eyes on a hideous representation of the bottomless pit. 'What's that, gronny? said he, pointing to the picture.

'Well! yo' and Jim may do as yo' like but I'm noan baan to turn aat o' th' owd Fold till I'm ta'en aat feet fermost. 'Nay, gronny don't tak' on so. Yo' cornd ston' agen law as haa it be; a writ is a writ, and if yo' hevn't got brass it's no use feightin'. 'A, lass! I'm feared thaa's reet naa-a-days them as has most gets most, and their own way i' th' bargain.

The death of little Job had rolled away the stone from the mouth of the sepulchre of her own dead child; and as she held the hand of the lately-bereaved mother she dropped many a word of comfort. 'I'll tell thee what aw've bin thinkin', said the old woman. 'What han yo' bin thinkin', Gronny? 'Why, I've bin thinkin' haa good th' Almeety is He's med angels o' them as we med lads.

And when he'd groon up, thaa knows, he could ha' takken care o' me. 'Yi, lass; we're awlus for patchin' th'Almeety's work; and if He leet us, we's mak' a sorry mess on it and o'. 'Well, Gronny, if I wur God Almeety I'd be agen lettin' lumps o' coile fall and crush th' life aat o' lads like aar Job. It's a queer way o' takkin 'em upstairs, as yo' co it.

Once more she turned towards the old woman, and said: 'Aw shouldn't ha' caared so mich, Gronny, if he'd deed as yor lad deed i' his own bed, an' wi' a fayver; bud he wur crushed wi' a lump o' coile! Poor little lad! Luk yo' here! and the mother bared the body and showed the discoloured parts. 'Did ta' ever see a child dee o' fayver, lass? 'Not as aw know on.

There, in the twilight of that Sabbath evening, she uttered what, to Rehoboth, would have been a terrible renunciation, just as a lurid beam shot its level fire across the moors, and as the sun went down, leaving her in the horror of a great darkness. And then, in the gathering gloom, was heard the voice of the child calling: 'Gronny! Gronny! 'Well, mi lad, what is't?