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Updated: June 9, 2025
Then he undid the string of it with his large awkward fingers, and pushed the stool across to David. 'Theer's sixty pund theer, Davy sixty pund! Yo can keawnt it it's aw reet. A've saved it for yo, this four year four year coom lasst Michaelmas Day. Hannah nor nobory knew owt abeawt it. But it's yourn it's yor share, being t' half o' Mr. Gurney's money.
"Then," said Saunders, slapping the table solemnly, "theer's nobbut one more thing to say an' sorry I am to say it. Them coins, Isaac" he pointed a slow finger at Bessie, whose white, fierce face moved involuntarily "them 'arf-crowns wor paid across the bar lasst night, or the night afore, at Dawson's, by yor wife, as is now stannin' there, an' she'll deny it if she can!"
'Yoong man, said an old farmer to him once reprovingly, after one of these "rumpuses," 'yor temper woan't mouldy wi keepin. Reuben coming by at the moment threw an unhappy glance at the lad, whose bruised face and torn clothes showed he had been fighting. To the uncle's mind there was a wanton, nay, a ruffianly look about him, which was wholly new.
"I tell tha when t' farrier cam oop last night, he said she'd been managed first-rate! If yo and Daffady had yor way wi' yor fallals an yor nonsense, yo'd never leave a poor sick creetur alone for five minutes; I towd Daffady to let her be, an I'll let him knaa who's measter here!" He glared at the carter, quite regardless of Laura's presence.
Tom said nothing till they had breasted a hill, at the top of which he paused panting, and confronted David. 'Noo yo'll not mak a rumpus, Davy, he said, mistrustfully. 'An if do, can't a hundred or two o' yo kick me out? asked David, mockingly. 'I'll mak no rumpus. P'raps yor Mr. Dyson'll convert me. And he walked on laughing.
'I'll tell yo' what it is, owd lass. I shornd hev to leave yo' agen, and his arm stole round the little neck, and he drew the sorrowful face to his own, and kissed it. 'But tell yor owd mon what's up wi yo'. 'Ne'er mind naa, Matt; I'll tell thee sometime, sobbed the wife. 'But I mun know naa, lass, or there'll be th' hangments to play.
But if he wor short o' wits when he gan up, he wor mich shorter when he cam down. That wor a rum skit! now I think on 't. Sich a seet he wor! He came by here six o'clock i' th' mornin. I found him hangin ower t' yard gate theer, as white an slamp as a puddin cloth oop on eend; an I browt him in, an was for gien him soom tay. An yor aunt, she gien him a warld o' good advice about his gooins on.
"Then you'll lose yor blinker, yo' pigheaded, likker-guzzling', ornery, no-account sand-hill crane," she said, viciously coming down on his chest with her full weight and sticking the point of hei nail against his eye. "I wouldn't marry yo' if ye wuz the last nubbin' in the Lord A'mighty's crib, and thar'd never be another crap o' men.
The woman ran to him and unpinned the paper. It bore a writing. They took it to where the yellow lamp-light shone through the open door, and read: "der Sir "FoLer harkls aL yo ples an gaRd him yoR best venagesn is closteR, harkls not Got 3 das to liv "We come in Wite." "What ye think, William?" asked the man with the baby, anxiously. But the woman gave the youth a sharp push with her hand.
We wor a bit sleepy, but we're quite wakken noo. Keep yor shirt on, and we'll do better next time." When the canoes, which were built entirely with sheets of bark, were drawn up on the beach, nothing was found in them but a few sticks, bark paddles, and a gown a lilac cotton gown. "That goon," said Campbell, "has belonged to some white woman thae deevils have murdered.
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