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Updated: June 5, 2025
My fingers is to the bone day an' night." "He'll be gone a year purty nigh." "Well, the harder you works, the quicker the time'll pass by. Theer's nuthin' to grizzle at. Sea-farin' fellers must be away most times. But he'm a good, straight man, an' you'm tokened to en, an' that's enough.
'T was of you I thought when I talked to Mr. Grimbal. He'm well-to-do, and be seekin' a house in the higher quarter under Middledown. You an' him have the same fancy for the auld stones. So you might grow into friends eh, Clem? Couldn't it so fall out? He might serve to help eh?
"Mine now," answered Will stoutly. "'Twas sent an' give into my awn hand by one what knawed who 'twas they called. My heart warmed to un as he lay in my arms, an' he'm mine hencefarrard." "What do 'e say, Phoebe?" asked Mrs. Blanchard, somewhat apprehensively. She knew full well how any such project must have struck her if placed in the bereaved mother's position.
Lyddon laboured under some shadow of doubt, but he quickly agreed when his man reminded him of the past course of events. "'Tis nothin', when all's said. Who'd doubt if he'd got to choose between that or two year in gaol? He'm lucky, and I'll tell un so come the marnin'."
His white bristles hurt, but Joan rejoiced exceedingly, and now it was her turn to shed tears. "He'll come back he'm a true man," she sobbed; "theer ban't the likes o' Mister Jan in Carnwall, an' an' if you knawed en, you'd say no less. You'm the fust as have got to my heart since he went; an' he'd bless 'e if he knawed."
'Enemies'! It's like a child talkin'. 'Enemies'! D'you think I care a damn wan way or t'other? You'm so bad as Jan Grimbal wi' his big play-actin' talk. He'm gwaine to cut my tether some day. P'r'aps you'll go an' help un to do it! The past is done, an' no man who weern't devil all through would go back on such a oath as you sweared to me. An' you won't.
"Mister Jan's be the awnly God," she thought, "an' He'm tu far aways to mind the likes o' we; so us must trust to the gert Mother o' the flowers." She accepted the position with an open heart, then turned her thoughts to her loved one.
It was in the winter that Archelaus reappeared, and the first that Cloom heard of it was a casual word dropped by Katie as she waited at table. "So Cap'n Arch'las is back among us," she remarked cheerfully, after the manner of Cornish servants, who see no harm in imparting items of gossip as they hand a dish; "they do say he'm rare and changed, though 'zackly how I don't knaw.
An' if you was took, which God forbid, theer'd be that mort o' money to come to Michael, him bein' your faither that is, s'pose the cheel was took tu, which God forbid likewise. An' he'd burn it every note I mean Michael. Now if you was to name Tom just in case o' accidents ? He'm of your awn blood by's faither." "But my baaby must be fust." "In coorse er must. 'Tis lawful an' right.
He ran up and down, joked with Martha, soothed his mother, and sang until Martha, who thought that a minister's deportment at a wedding should be only a little less grandiloquent than at a funeral, said: 'He'm less like a minister than a nest of birds. She and Mrs. Marston were setting out the feather-cups in the best parlour.
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