"
"What signifies how long it takes me? Isn't the coffin promised? Can
they bury the man without a coffin? I'd work my right hand off sooner
than deceive people with lies i' that way. It makes me mad to think
on't. I shall overrun these doings before long. I've stood enough of
'em."
Poor Lisbeth did not hear this threat for the first time, and if she had
been wise she would have gone away quietly and said nothing for the next
hour. But one of the lessons a woman most rarely learns is never to talk
to an angry or a drunken man. Lisbeth sat down on the chopping bench
and began to cry, and by the time she had cried enough to make her voice
very piteous, she burst out into words.
"Nay, my lad, my lad, thee wouldstna go away an' break thy mother's
heart, an' leave thy feyther to ruin. Thee wouldstna ha' 'em carry me to
th' churchyard, an' thee not to follow me. I shanna rest i' my grave
if I donna see thee at th' last; an' how's they to let thee know as I'm
a-dyin', if thee't gone a-workin' i' distant parts, an' Seth belike gone
arter thee, and thy feyther not able to hold a pen for's hand shakin',
besides not knowin' where thee art? Thee mun forgie thy feyther--thee
munna be so bitter again' him. He war a good feyther to thee afore he
took to th' drink.
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