'Aye, it's aw play to yo,' she said, trembling all through in her passion, as she held the boy--'it's aw play to yo and your minx of a sister.

An if it means deein to the old man hissel, _yo_ don't care! "Margaret," says the doctor to me last week, "if you can keep his mind quiet he may hang on a bit.
But you munna let him excite hissel about owt--he mun tak things varra easy.

He's like a wilted leaf--nobbut t'least thing will bring it down.

He's worn varra thin like, heart an lungs, and aw t' rest of him." An d' yo think I'st sit still an see yo _murder_ him--the poor lamb--afore my eyes--me as ha got nowt else but him i' t' wide warld?
No--yo yoong varlet--goo an ast soom one else about Jenny Crum if yo 're just set on meddlin wi divil's wark--but yo'll no trouble my 'Lias.' She took her hands off him, and the boy was going away in a half-sullen silence, when she caught him again.
'Who towd yo about 'Lias an t' Pool, nobbut 'Lias hissel ?' 'Uncle Reuben towd me summat.' 'Aye, Reuben Grieve--he put him in t' carrier's cart, an behaved moor like a Christian nor his wife--I allus mind that o' Reuben Grieve, when foak coe him a foo.

Wal, I'st tell yo, Davy, an if iver yo want to say a word about Jenny Crum in our house afterwards, yo mun ha a gritstone whar your heart owt to be--that's aw.' And she leant over the wall of the little garden, twisting her apron in her old, tremulous hands, and choking down the tears which had begun to rise.