Ned would not have known him again, and could scarce believe that the thin, feeble figure was the sturdy, strong built boy with whom he had struggled on the moor.

His eyes filled with tears as he went up to the bedside.
"I am so sorry!" he said; "I have grieved so all the time you have been ill." "It's all roight, young un," the boy said in a low voice, "thar's no call vor to fret.

It warn't thy fault; thou couldn't not tell why oi would not let ee pass, and ye were roight enough to foight rather than to toorn back.

I doan't blame ee nohow, and thou stoodst up well agin me.

Oi doan't bear no malice vor a fair foight, not loikely.