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Updated: May 28, 2025
Even tha' hair doesn't slamp down on tha' head so flat. It's got some life in it so as it sticks out a bit." "It's like me," said Mary. "It's growing stronger and fatter. I'm sure there's more of it." "It looks it, for sure," said Martha, ruffling it up a little round her face. "Tha'rt not half so ugly when it's that way an' there's a bit o' red in tha' cheeks."
"Eh!" he said, "that sounds as if tha'd got wits enow. Tha'rt a Yorkshire lad for sure. An' tha'rt diggin', too. How'd tha' like to plant a bit o' somethin'? I can get thee a rose in a pot." "Go and get it!" said Colin, digging excitedly. "Quick! Quick!" It was done quickly enough indeed. Ben Weatherstaff went his way forgetting rheumatics.
She quickly altered her mind, however, and seemed determined to use all her blandishments. "Ay, Tom," she said. "Tha'rt too good to throw thyself away on the goody-goody Alice Lister sort. Tha'rt too much of a man for that, else I should never have got so fond of thee." "Art'a really fond of me, Polly?" asked Tom, evidently pleased by Polly's confession.
"I am earning good brass," said Tom, "and if I hold on I shall make more still. Let those as wants to fight the Germans fight 'em, I'm noan going to get killed." This he said to Polly Powell one night as he sat in the private sitting-room of the Thorn and Thistle. "And quite right too, Tom," said Polly "tha'rt too good a lad to be killed by the Germans. Besides, enough'll go without thee.
She used the wrong Magic until she made him beat her. If she'd used the right Magic and had said something nice perhaps he wouldn't have got as drunk as a lord and perhaps perhaps he might have bought her a new bonnet." Ben Weatherstaff chuckled and there was shrewd admiration in his little old eyes. "Tha'rt a clever lad as well as a straight-legged one, Mester Colin," he said.
"It will be like sitting in a sort of temple," said Colin. "I'm rather tired and I want to sit down." "Eh!" said Dickon, "tha' musn't begin by sayin' tha'rt tired. Tha' might spoil th' Magic." Colin turned and looked at him into his innocent round eyes. "That's true," he said slowly. "I must only think of the Magic." It all seemed most majestic and mysterious when they sat down in their circle.
He did not know that when she first saw him she spoke to him as she would have spoken to a native, and had not known that a cross, sturdy old Yorkshire man was not accustomed to salaam to his masters, and be merely commanded by them to do things. "Tha'rt like th' robin," he said to her one morning when he lifted his head and saw her standing by him.
"I will give you a sovereign if you'll let me see the map you and Mr. Temple Barholm used to look at and talk so much about." He laid the sovereign down on the small table by Tummas's sofa, but Tummas did not pick it up. "I know who tha art. Tha'rt Palliser, an' tha wast th' one as said as him as was killed in th' Klondike had coom back alive."
He did not know that when she first saw him she spoke to him as she would have spoken to a native, and had not known that a cross, sturdy old Yorkshire man was not accustomed to salaam to his masters, and be merely commanded by them to do things. "Tha'rt like th' robin," he said to her one morning when he lifted his head and saw her standing by him.
"Art tha' th' little wench from India?" he asked. Mary nodded. "Then no wonder tha'rt lonely. Tha'lt be lonlier before tha's done," he said. He began to dig again, driving his spade deep into the rich black garden soil while the robin hopped about very busily employed. "What is your name?" Mary inquired. He stood up to answer her.
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