But six shillin' wearin' his truck-end out on a stool's better than ten shillin' i' th' pit wi'me, I know." "He is NOT going in the pit," said Mrs.Morel, "and there's an end of it." "It wor good enough for me, but it's non good enough for 'im." "If your mother put you in the pit at twelve, it's no reason why I should do the same with my lad." "Twelve! It wor a sight afore that!" "Whenever it was," said Mrs.Morel.
She was very proud of her son.

He went to the night school, and learned shorthand, so that by the time he was sixteen he was the best shorthand clerk and book-keeper on the place, except one.

Then he taught in the night schools.

But he was so fiery that only his good-nature and his size protected him.
All the things that men do--the decent things--William did.

He could run like the wind.