There was, at all times, a natural responsiveness in him of a strange kind, vibrating rather to pain than joy.

He stood by her, embarrassed, yet drawn to her--waiting, too, as it seemed to him, for something more that must be coming.
'An then,' said Margaret at last, turning to him, and speaking more quietly, but still in a kind of tense way, 'then, when 'Lias wor took bad, yo know, Davy, I had my boys.

Did yo ever hear tell o' what came to 'em, Davy ?' The boy shook his head.
'Ah!' she said, catching her breath painfully, 'they're moast forgotten, is my boys.

'Lias had been seven weeks i' his bed, an I wor noan so mich cast down--i' those days I had a sperrit more 'n most.

I thowt th' boys ud keer for us--we'd gien em a good bringin up, an they wor boath on 'em larnin trades i' Manchester.