He doan't do her no harm, nor yo noather.
Women foak and gells allus want to be wooryin soomthin.' 'Aunt Hannah says he lost his wits wi fuddlin,' repeated Louie shrilly, striking straighter still for what she knew to be one of David's tenderest points--his friendship for 'owd 'Lias Dawson,' the queer dreamer, who, fifteen years before, had been the schoolmaster of Frimley Moor End, and in local esteem 't' cliverest mon abeawt t'Peak.' David with difficulty controlled a hot inclination to fall upon his sister once more.

Instead, however, he affected not to hear her, and shouted a loud 'Good mornin' to the old man, who was toiling up the knoll on which the smithy stood.
'Lias responded feebly, panting hard the while.

He sank down on a stone outside the smithy, and for a while had neither breath nor voice.

Then he began to look about him; his heaving chest subsided, and there was a rekindling of the strange blue eyes.

He wore a high white stock and neckcloth; his plaid hung round his emaciated shoulders with a certain antique dignity; his rusty wideawake covered hair still abundant and even curly, but snow-white; the face, with its white eyebrows, was long, thin, and full of an ascetic delicacy.
'Wal, Davy, my lad,' the old man said at last, with a sort of pompous mildness; 'I winna blame yo for 't, but yo interrupted me sadly wi yur whistlin.