"But the great pint is that you an' 'e is a-goin' to be man an' wife, an' I'm right glad to 'ear it, for it's a lonely life ye've been leadin' since yer father's death, forbye ye've got a bit o' company in old David.

An' wot'll ye do with David when you're married ?" "He'll stay on with us, I hope," said Mary.

"But this morning he has gone away--and we don't know where he can have gone to." Mrs.Twitt raised her eyes and hands in astonishment.
"Gone away ?" "Yes." And Mary showed her the letter Helmsley had written, and explained how Angus Reay had started off to walk towards Minehead, in the hope of overtaking the wanderer.
"Well, I never!" And Mrs.Twitt gave a short gasp of wonder.

"Wants to find employment, do 'e?
The poor old innercent! Why, Twitt would 'a given 'im a job in the stoneyard if 'e'd 'a known.

He'll never find a thing to do anywheres on the road at 'is age!" And the news of David's sudden and lonely departure affected her more powerfully than the prospect of Mary's marriage, which had, in the first place, occupied all her mental faculties.
"An' that reminds me," she went on, "of 'ow the warnin' came to me yesterday when I was a-goin' out to my wash-tub an' I slipt on a bit o' potato peelin'.