“All right, all right with Phoebe?” were Mr. Lyddon’s first words, and he was white and shaking as he put the question.
“Right as ninepence, faither—gran’faither, I should say. A butivul li’l man she’ve got—out o’ the common fine, Parsons says, as ought to knaw—fat as a slug wi’ ’mazin’ dark curls on his wee head, though my mother says ’tis awnly a sort o’ catch-crop, an’ not the lasting hair as’ll come arter.”
“A bwoy! Glory be!” said Mr. Blee. “If theer’s awnly a bit o’ the gracious gudeness of his gran’faither in un, ’twill prove a prosperous infant.”
“Thank God for a happy end to all my prayers,” said Mr. Lyddon. “Billy, get Will something to eat an’ drink. I guess he’s hungry an’ starved.”
“Caan’t eat, Miller; but I’ll have a drop of the best, if it’s all the same to you. Us must drink their healths, both of ’em. As for me ’tis a gert thing to be the faither of a cheel as’ll graw into a man some day, an’ may even be a historical character, awnly give un time.”
“So ’tis a gert thing. Sit down; doan’t tramp about. I lay you’ve been on your feet enough these late hours.”
Will obeyed, but proceeded with his theme, and though his feet were still his hands were not.
“Us be faced wi’ the upbringing an’ edication of un. I mean him to be brought up to a power o’ knowledge, for theer’s nothin’ like it. Doan’t you think I be gwaine to shirk doin’ the right thing by un’, Miller, ’cause it aint so. If ’twas my last fi’-pun’ note was called up for larnin’ him, he’d have it.”
“Theer’s no gert hurry yet,” declared Billy. “Awnly you’m right to look in the future and weigh the debt every man owes to the cheel he gets. He’ll never cost you less thought or halfpence than he do to-day, an’, wi’out croakin’ at such a gay time, I will say he’ll graw into a greater care an’ trouble, every breath he draws.”
“Not him! Not the way I’m gwaine to bring un up. Stern an’ strict an’ no nonsense, I promise ’e”