“Has he killed him?” cried poor Rose.
“No, fegs, no! kecking mun, kecking mun, so hard as ever was futeball! Goodness, Father, who did ever? If a haven't kecked mun right into river, and got on mun's horse and rod away!”
And so saying, down she came again.
“And now then, my dear life, us be better to goo hoom and get you sommat warm. You'm mortal cold, I rackon, by now. I was cruel fear'd for ye: but I kept mun off clever, didn't I, now?”
“I wish—I wish I had not seen Mr. Leigh's face!”
“Iss, dreadful, weren't it, poor young soul; a sad night for his poor mother!”
“Lucy, I can't get his face out of my mind. I'm sure he overlooked me.”
“Oh then! who ever heard the like o' that? When young gentlemen do overlook young ladies, tain't thikketheor aways, I knoo. Never you think on it.”
“But I can't help thinking of it,” said Rose. “Stop. Shall we go home yet? Where's that servant?”
“Never mind, he wain't see us, here under the hill. I'd much sooner to know where my old man was. I've a sort of a forecasting in my inwards, like, as I always has when aught's gwain to happen, as though I shuldn't zee mun again, like, I have, miss. Well—he was a bedient old soul, after all, he was. Goodness, Father! and all this while us have forgot the very thing us come about! Who did you see?”