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Updated: June 29, 2025
You'm a mean, ill-minded sawl, as would trample on your awn flesh an' blood, if you got the chance. Do your awn dirty work. Who be I that you should call on me to wallow in filth to please your sour spite?" "You hear him, you hear him!" cried out the miller, now angry enough himself. "That's how I'm sarved for returnin' gude to his evil.
Some o' 'em is come all the ways fra Plymouth, vowin' and swearin' they'll have blid for blid, and that if they can't pitch 'pon he who fired to kill their man every sawl aboard the Lottery shall swing gallows-high for un." A volley of oaths ran through the room, Joan threw up her arms in despair, Eve groaned aloud. Suddenly there was a movement as if some one was breaking from a detaining hand.
Her heart's warm yet, an' the truth will find its plaace theer in the Lard's awn time; but you I doubt 'tedn' in you to change." "Never, till wrong be right." "You makes me sorry for 'e, Tregenza." "Weep for yourself, Thomas Chirgwin. You'm that contented, an' the contented sawl be allus farthest from God if you awnly knawed it. Wheer's your fear an' tremblin' too?
"By which I means," he added, "that these new-fangled ways of approaching the A'mighty may go to branch and trunk an' make a clean sweep o' evil, but they leaves the root o' pride stickin' in a man's sawl. 'Tis the auld broom as Christ brought in the world as routs into the dark corners like nothin' else." "I be glad you spawk to en," said Mary. "Seed sawed do bring forth fruit in a 'mazin'' way."
There's Jerrem at it fro' mornin' to night; and as for uncle, dear sawl! he's as happy as a clam at high watter." "Iss, I reckon," said Mrs. Tucker: "it don't never matter much what goes wrong, so long as uncle gets his fill o' drink. I've said scores o' times uncle's joy 'ud never run dry so long as liquor lasted."
I doan't want to hurt your feelings; but everybody says it is so," declared the miller. "What everybody sez, nobody did ought to believe," returned Mr. Blee stoutly. "She 'm a gude, lonely sawl, as wants a man round the house to keep off her relations, same as us has a dog to keep down varmints in general.
"But that Bent bwoy's bin at en for months; an' a year older too," said Joan. "Iss, the bwoy's got no more'n what 'e desarved. For that matter, they Bents be all puffed up, though they'm so poor as rats, an' wi'out 'nough religion to save the sawl of a new-born babe 'mongst the lot of 'em."
The Lard's my doctor. Keep your sawl clean, an' the Lard'll watch your body. 'E's said as much. 'E knaws we'm poor trashy worms an' even a breath o' foul air'll take our lives onless 'E be by to filter it. Faith's the awnly medicine worth usin'." Joan remembered her morning bath and felt comforted by this last reflection. Had she not already found the magic result?
Thank 'e so gude cider as ever I tasted; an' doan't 'e tear an' rage, my son. What's the use?" "'Twould be use, though, if us all raged together." "But you won't get none to follow. 'Tis all talk. Duchy haven't got no bones to break or sawl to lose; an' moormen haven't got brains enough to do aught in the matter but jaw."
But hear me: you 'm ruinin' yourself, body an' sawl, along o' this job body an' sawl, like apples in a barrel rots each other. You 'm in a bad way, Jan Grimbal, an' I'm sorry for 'e brick house an' horses an' dogs notwithstanding. Have a spring cleaning in that sulky brain o' yourn, my son, an' be a man wi' yourself, same as you be a man wi' the world." The other sneered. "Don't get hot.
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