There's nought to be done," said the bystanders: for, except those who had run to do Mr.Wood's bidding, we were all watching and all huddled closer to the edge than ever.

The school-master went down on his hands and knees, on which a big lad, with his hands in his trouser-pockets, guffawed.
"What's he up to now ?" he asked.
"Thee may haud thee tongue if thee can do nought," said a mill-girl who had come up.

"I reckon he knows what he's efter better nor thee." She had pushed to the front, and was crouched upon the edge, and seemed very much excited.

"GOD bless him for trying to save t' best lad in t' village i' any fashion, say I! There's them that's nearer kin to him and not so kind." Perhaps the strict justice of this taunt prevented a reply (for there lurks some fairness in the roughest of us), or perhaps the crowd, being chiefly men knew from experience that there are occasions when it is best to let a woman say her say.
"Ye see he's trying to spread hisself out," John Binder explained in pacific tones.

"I reckon he thinks it'll bear him if he shifts half of his weight on to his hands." The girl got nearer to the mason, and looked up at him with her eyes full of tears.
"Thank ye, John," she said.