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Updated: June 24, 2025
It must bon down, squire, eh?" "Yes, my man, nothing could save the place now." "Ay, moother, and my Sunday clothes," said the wheelwright with a bitter laugh. "And my best frock." "Ay, and my tools, and a bit o' mooney I'd saved, and all my stoof. Eh, but I'm about ruined, moother, and just when I was going to get on and do the bit o' work for the dreern folk."
It be directed Strides, but Widow Thrale she says, 'Ta'ak it along, to moother at Costrell's. And now ye've gotten it, Granny Marrable." "There's no denying that, Master John. I'll say good-bye, doctor." But what the letter-carrier was saying caught her ear, and she paused before re-entering the house, holding the letters in her hand.
"G-a-a, cry babby!" jeered `Ugly. "Yer oughter 'a bin tied to yer mother's aprun string!" "Begorrah!" interposed Mick Donovan, "that's more'n ye could be afther! I doesn't think ye're afther havin' a moother at all. Faith, ye're too ugly fur inny one to own ye, save the divvle; an' he'd be a born fool fur his pains if he did."
'Never God made vog as could stop their eyesen, he whispered in answer, fearfully; 'here us be by the hollow ground. Zober, lad, goo zober now, if thee wish to see thy moother. For I was inclined, in the manner of boys, to make a run of the danger, and cross the Doone-track at full speed; to rush for it, and be done with it.
John Fry leaned forward in the saddle, and turned his eyes away from me; and then there was a noise in his throat like a snail crawling on a window-pane. 'Oh, us knaws that wull enough, Maister Jan; reckon every Oare-man knaw that, without go to skoo-ull, like you doth. Your moother have kept arl the apples up, and old Betty toorned the black puddens, and none dare set trap for a blagbird.
John Fry leaned forward in the saddle, and turned his eyes away from me; and then there was a noise in his throat like a snail crawling on a window-pane. "Oh, us knaws that wull enough, Maister Jan; reckon every Oare-man knaw that, without go to skoo-ull, like you doth. Your moother have kept arl the apples up, and old Betty toorned the black puddens, and none dare set trap for a blagbird.
Gale had just cleared the table after her tea, had washed up the tea-things and was putting them away in the cupboard when Essy entered. She looked round sharply, inimically. Essy stood by the doorway, shamefaced. "Moother," she said softly, "I want to speaak to yo." Mrs.
And up to the last possible moment, even to her daughter, she was determined to ignore what had happened. But she knew and Essy knew that she knew. "Doan yo saay it, Assy. Doan yo saay it." Essy said nothing. "D'yo 'ear mae speaakin' to yo? Caann't yo aanswer? Is it thot, Assy? Is it thot?" "Yas, moother, yo knaw 'tis thot." "An' yo dare to coom 'ear and tell mae! Yo dirty 'oossy!
I am an orphan; my parents I never saw. And tell me for this strange resemblance between us almost overpowers me do yours live?" "Whoy," was the reply, "old Tom Prescot and his woif be alive; and they zay as how they be my vather and moother, and I zuppose they be; but zoom cast up to them that they bean't."
"Sakes alive, Izick, look at that!" said the woman in a whisper, while the little fellow went on picking his toes, and the grey horse turned his tail into a live chowry to keep away the flies. "Well, I am!" said the fat man, wrinkling his face all over as he indulged in a silent laugh. "Why, moother, he's a perfeck picter."
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