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Updated: June 29, 2025
Get you gone, you fagot, you an' this here white-haired sawl, as is foolin' you an' holdin' converse wi' the outcast o' heaven. I ban't no faither o' yourn, thank God, as shawed me I weern't never, never. Gaw! Gaw both of 'e. My God! the sight of 'e do sicken me as I stand in the same air. You an auld man touchin' her an' her devil-sent, filthy moneys.
He haven't got much as'll be hard to paart from. Stern measures stern measures for his everlastin' welfare. Think of the wild-fire sawl of un! Never yet did a sawl want steadin' worse'n his. Keep you to the fust plan, and he'll thank'e yet." Elsewhere two women his wife and sister failed utterly in well-meaning efforts to comfort the stricken farmer. Presently, before nightfall, Mrs.
"Awh, poor sawl!" sighed Joan compassionately: "I've often had a feelin' for what you'd to bear, and for this reason too that I knaws myself what 'tis to be ousted from the heart you'm cravin' to call yer own." "Why, yes, of course," said Reuben briskly: "you were set down for Adam once, weren't you?"
I be no faither o' thine, nor never was. God A'mighty! a Tregenza a wanton! I'd rather cut my hand off than b'lieve it so. It's this this blood-money the price o' a damned sawl! No more lyin'. I knaw I knaw an' the picksher the ship of a true man. It did ought to break your heart to see it, if you had wan. A devil-spawned painting feller, in coorse.
I dreamed it 'fore 'e was born. Doan't 'e hold me back, you poor fools. Let me gaw an' bury myself in the same graave along wi' en. My Tom, my Tom! I awnly had but wan awnly wan, an' now " She wailed and wrung her hands, while rough voices filled her ears with such comfort as words could bring to her. "Rest easy, bide at peace, dear sawl."
He hoped you was all well, and keepin' yer spirits up, Joan." "Poor sawl!" sighed Joan: "I 'spects he finds that's more than he can do." "Ah, you may well say that," replied Mrs. Tucker, casting a troubled look toward her daughter's altered face. "Adam's doin' purtty much the same as you be, Joan frettin' his insides out."
"Nay, nay, my poor sawl; sit you down an' eat, Joe, an' take they wet boots off a while. Our hearts have bled for 'e this many days, Joe Noy, an' never more'n now." "I thank you, uncle; an' you, Mary Chirgwin will 'e say as much? 'Tis you I wants to speak with, 'cause you you seed Joan arter 'twas awver." "I wish you well, Joe Noy, an' if I ever done differ'nt 'tis past an' forgot.
The wickedness of it! Him as taught you to think such frightful thoughts tried to ruin your sawl so well as your body. Oh, if you'd awnly up an' say, 'That man was wrong an' I'll forget en an' turn to the Saviour." "You caan't understan'. I do put ugly bits o' thot afore 'e, but if you'd heard him as opened my eyes, you'd knaw 'tedn' ugly taken altogether.
"Theer's things bein' hid 'twixt you an' me, darter, an' 'tis time you spoke up. Every parent's got some responsibility in the matter of his cheel's sawl, an', if theer's aught to knaw, 'tis I must hear it. 'The faither waketh for the darter when no man knaweth, sez the Preacher, an' he never wrote nothin' truer. I've waked for you, Joan.
"Then perhaps I'd best not to see your faither arter all, if you 'm that way o' thinkin'," he answered shortly. Then Phoebe purred to him and rubbed her cheek against his chin, whereon the glint vanished from his eyes, and they were soft again. "Mother's the awnly livin' sawl what understands me," he said slowly. "And I I too, Will!" cried Phoebe. "Ess fay.
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