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Updated: June 11, 2025
A hundred yards off, and there was a small public-house, with a broad ruddy oblong of firelight shining across the tract. 'Theere! said the old man. 'Thee cannot well miss that. A dunno tho', thee bees sich a gawby. So he went on, and delivered Philip safely up to the landlord.
He stood red and half smiling, with his cake in one hand, his wine in the other, and then began, 'Long may ye live, Happy may ye he, And blest with a num'rous Pro-ge-ny. 'Theere, that's po'try for yo' as I larnt i' my youth. But there's a deal to be said as cannot be put int' po'try, an' yet a cannot say it, somehow. It 'd tax a parson t' say a' as a've getten i' my mind.
'Nation here! nation theere! I'm a man and yo're another, but nation's nowheere. If Measter Cholmley talked to me i' that fashion, he'd look long for another vote frae me. I can make out King George, and Measter Pitt, and yo' and me, but nation! nation, go hang!
'I think I'd better pray for his death, then, said Hester, hopelessly, and almost bitterly, loosing her hold of Sylvia's hands. 'If it weren't for baby theere, I could think as it were my death as 'ud be best. Them as one thinks t' most on, forgets one soonest.
Laws is made for to keep some folks fra' harming others. Press-gangs and coast-guards harm me i' my business, and keep me fra' getting what I want. Theerefore, what I think and say is this: Measter Cholmley should put down press-gangs and coast-guards. If that theere isn't reason I ax yo' to tell me what is? an' if Measter Cholmley don't do what I ax him, he may go whistle for my vote, he may.
He had to return discomfited to Sylvia, who meanwhile had arranged her thoughts ready to return to the charge. 'And say he's sent to York, and say he's tried theere, what's t' worst they can do again' him? asked she, keeping down her agitation to look at Philip the more sharply.
'Nation here! nation theere! I'm a man and yo're another, but nation's nowheere. If Measter Cholmley talked to me i' that fashion, he'd look long for another vote frae me. I can make out King George, and Measter Pitt, and yo' and me, but nation! nation, go hang!
Coulson is i' t' shop, but he'll not notice thee like Phoebe. By-and-by Kester came back. It seemed as though Sylvia had never stirred; she looked eagerly at him, but did not speak. 'He went away i' Rob Mason's mail-cart, him as tak's t' letters to Hartlepool. Corneys has been theere askin' for him, an' makin' a piece o' work, as he niver went near em; and they bees cousins.
A misdoubt me if there were a felly theere as would ha' thought o' routling out yon wasps' nest; it tak's a deal o' mother-wit to be up to things. But t' gang'll niver harbour theere again, one while. A only wish we'd cotched 'em. An' a should like t' ha' gi'en Hobbs a bit o' my mind. 'He's had his sauce, said Simpson, dolefully. 'Him and me is ruined.
'Lassie, said she to little Bella, who held a cake which Jeremiah's housekeeper had given her tight in her hand, 'yon poor man theere is hungry; will Bella give him her cake, and mother will make her another to-morrow twice as big?
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