Now that his daughter was made the subject of them, he was profoundly agitated.
"There I sat," he cried, as his breath came and went in gusts,--"there I sat, a poor barrow-back't creature, and heard that old savvorless loon spit his spite at my lass.

I'm none of a brave man, Ralph: no, I must be a coward, but I went nigh to snatching up yon flail of his and striking him--aye, killing him!--but no, it must be that I'm a coward." Ralph quieted him as well as he could, telling him to leave this thing to him.

Ralph was perhaps Sim's only friend.

He would often turn in like this at Sim's workroom as he passed up the fell in the morning.
People said the tailor was indebted to Ralph for proofs of friendship more substantial than sympathy.

And now, when Sim had the promise of a strong friend's shoulder to lean on, he was unmanned, and wept.