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"What I want doing I must do myself. Always has been so, and always will be." "I wish it were true, mother," muttered Joe in a voice scarcely audible. "What's that?" "Nowt." "I'll go over to Shoulth'et to-morrow," purred Mrs. Garth. "If the old man made no will, I'll maybe have summat to say as may startle them a gay bit." The woman grunted to herself at the prospect.
The roads are varra drewvy after the snow," he added, stamping the clods from his boots. Then looking about, "Hesn't our Liza been here to-neet?" "Not yet," Rotha answered. "Whearaway is t' lass? I thought she was for slipping off to Shoulth'et. But then she's olas gitten her best bib and tucker on nowadays."
The girl was turning about towards the house, when she heard footsteps approaching her from the direction which her father had taken. She could not help but pause, hardly knowing why, when the gaunt figure of Mrs. Garth loomed large in the road beside her. Rotha would now have hastened home, but the woman had recognized her in the darkness. "How's all at Shoulth'et?" said Mrs.
Then they drove for hours in silence. It was dark when they passed through Threlkeld, and turned into the Vale of Wanthwaite on their near approach to Wythburn. "I scarce know rightly where Robbie bides, now old Martha's dead," thought Reuben; "I'll just slip up the lonnin to Shoulth'et and ask." And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain. Coleridge.
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