I was book-binding then, out late at night, an' I comed home to find he'd left them fur me--snowdrops they was, an' moss wi' a glint o' green light on't, like sun shining through th' trees; an' there was a grey pigeon's feather he'd picked up somewheres, all clean and unroughed, like a bit o' the sky at th' dawn; an' there was a twig wi' a wee pink toaedstood on't, all pink an' red.
The sight o' them fairly made me mad.

'Twas bad enow to buy me wi' munny an' the things munny can buy, but it seemed he'd take the very thoughts o' God A'mighty and use them to get his will.

I were mad; but if he'd comed to our house I couldn't 'a spoke fur mother's being there; so I just took them bits o' Spring i' my hand, an' went out i' the dark to his house, an' went into his room, an' threw 'em on the floor, an' stamped 'em wi' my foot, an' I told him how he'd sneaked round to bind me to him, an' as how I'd die first.

I was mad, an' talked till I couldn't speak fur my voice give out, an' that wasn't soon.

He just sat still hearing me, but he was white, an' shook like a man wi' the palsy.
They said he'd had fits once an' that made him nervous, but I didn't think o' him like that.