'E aint left any mossel o' paper writ out like, with wot 'e'd like put on 'im, I s'pose ?" Mary felt the colour rush to her face.
"N--no! Not that I know of, Mr.Twitt," she said.

"He has left a few papers which I promised him I would take to a friend of his, but I haven't even looked at them yet, and don't know to whom they are addressed.

If I find anything I'll let you know." "Ay, do so!" and Twitt rubbed his chin meditatively.

"I wouldn't run agin' 'is wishes for anything if ser be I can carry 'em out.

I considers as 'e wor a very fine sort--gentle as a lamb, an' grateful for all wot was done for 'im, an' I wants to be as friendly to 'im in 'is death as I wos in 'is life--ye understand ?" "Yes--I know--I quite understand," said Mary.