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I rather think it cheers her up to see it about the place. Obviously she had come in to make conversation. I laid down my pen with a sigh. 'I yeerd from my young man this morning, she began. A chill foreboding swept over me. 'Do you mean the boiler one? I asked. ''Im wot belongs to the Amalgamated Serciety of Boilermakers, she corrected with dignity.
"And you have not seen her face?" said mine host of the Crown. "Shouldn't know her from Adam's grandmother," said the post-boy who had ridden the wheel-horses. "Howsomedever, I yeerd her sob and moan like a wheel as vants grease." "You may say that," said the other post-boy, a little shrivelled old man, a good deal past sixty; "we lads see strange soights.
Soon's I yeerd tell on it, Marse Rupert, it set me ter steddyin'. I been a-watchin' out an' axin' questions fur weeks, an' when I fin' out " "But what has that to do with Uncle Tom?" cried Rupert. "A heap, Marse Rupert.
If he'd yeerd yo just now but, by t' Lord's blessin, he did na he'd ha worked himsel up fearfu'! I'd ha had naw sleep wi him for neets like it wor i' th' spring. Yo munna yo munna! He's all I ha his livin 's my livin, Davy an when he's took away why, I'll mak shift soomhow to dee too!
'Noa noa, said the old man, shaking his head, while a sort of film seemed to gather over the eyes, and the face and features relaxed fell, as it were, into their natural expression of weak senility, which so long as he was under the stress of his favourite illusions was hardly apparent. 'But it's true it's varra true I've yeerd tell strange things about Sandy Grieve's wife.
'My mither wor a Papist. A curious change of expression appeared on 'Lias's face. He put his hand behind his ear that he might hear better, turned a pair of cunning eyes on David, while his lips pressed themselves together. 'Your mither wor a Papist? an your feyther wor Sandy Grieve. Ay, ay I've yeerd tell strange things o' Sandy Grieve's wife, he said slowly.
By this time the man came up to him and said, "Why, Abe, whatever art ta swearing abaat soa on a Sunday noight?" "Swearing! me swearing!" exclaimed Abe. "I'm noan swearing, my lad." "But I yeerd the' mysen." "When?" "Naa, this minute; thaa called somebody a lying owd devil, and sich loike."
Why, they coe it t' Witch's Pool, or used to i' my yoong days. An for varra good reason too. They drownded an owd witch theer i' my grand-feyther's time I've heerd my grandmither tell th' tale on't scores o' times. An theer's aw mak o' tales about it, or used to be. I hannot yeerd mony words about it o' late years. Who's been talkin to yo, Davy? Louie came running up and listened.
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