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I sleep well there, and the dawn comes in and wakens me." "You ban't feared o' piskeys nor nothin' in a lawnsome plaace like thicky byre?" "No, no the rats are rather intrusive, though." "But they'm piskeys or spriggans so like's not!
You knawed you was doin' wrong better'n I can tell you an' such a plaace! A babe could see you 'm workin' awver living springs. You caan't fill un even now in the drouth, an' come autumn an' rain 't will all be bog again." "Nothing of the sort," flamed out Will, quite forgetting his recent assertion as to the poverty of the place.
The squire turned to stop Dick, but it was too late, for the lad had reached the wheelwright and laid his hand upon his shoulder. "Hicky," he said softly; "be a man!" "Ay, lad, I will," said the great fellow, starting up with his eyes wet with tears. "It isn't the bont plaace made me soft like that, but what's been said."
It was the mournful and musical voice that she had heard sometimes last summer on the road outside the back door of the Vicarage. She came in, pausing on the threshold and looking about her, as if she stood poised on the edge of an adventure. Her smallness, and the delicious, exploring air of her melted Jim's heart and made him smile at her. "It's a roough plaace fer a laady," he said.
You have a cowslip there stuck in your frock, though where you got it from I can't imagine. The flower is a month too early." "Iss, 'tis, I found en in a lew, sunshiny plaace. Us have got a frame for growin' things under glass, an' it had bin put down 'pon top this cowslip an' drawed 'en up." "Will you give it to me?" She did so, and he smelled it.
God forgive un, I shaan't not till we 'm man an' wife, anyway. Then I might. Give 'e up! Be I a chap as chaanges? Never never yet." Phoebe wept at these words and pressed Will to her heart. "'Tis strength, an' fire, an' racing blood in me to hear 'e, dear, braave heart. I was that weak without 'e. Now the world 's a new plaace, an' I doan't doubt fust thought was right, for all they said.
You might have noticed that love-cheel by the name of Timothy 'bout the plaace? Him as be just of age to harry the ducks an' such-like." "A nice li'l bwoy, tu, an' fond of me; an' you caan't say he'm a love-cheel, knawin' nothin' 'bout him." "Love-cheel or changeling, 'tis all wan. Have'e ever thought 'twas coorious the way Blanchard comed by un?" "Certainly 'twas terrible coorious."
"Theer's some of the upland farms might be wanting harrowin' an' seed plantin' done." "Who's to Newtake, Gran'faither Ford's auld plaace, I wonder?" "'Tis empty. The last folks left 'fore you went away. Couldn't squeeze bare life out of it. That's the fourth party as have tried an' failed." "Yet gran'faither done all right."
"As God in heaven's my judge, he ban't no cheel of mine, and I knaw nothing about him no, nor yet his faither nor mother nor plaace of birth. I found un wheer I said, and if I've lied by a fraction, may God choke me as I stand here afore you." "An' I believe you to the bottom!" declared his father-in-law.
My lad!" panted the farmer, "I am sorry." "Thanky, farmer; but fine words butter no parsneps. Theer, bairn," he cried, putting his arm round his wife's waist; "don't cry that away. We aren't owd folks, and I'm going to begin again. Be a good dry plaace after fire's done, and theer'll be some niced bits left for yow to heat the oven when fire's out." "And no oven, no roof, no fireside."
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