“That’s awnly to say he be a man; an’ if you caan’t find words for the faults, ’t is clear they ban’t worth namin’.”
“I can find words easy enough, I assure ’e; but a man’s a fule to waste breath criticising the ways of a son to his mother—if so be he’s a gude son.”
“What fault theer is belongs to me. I was set on his gwaine to Newtake as master, like his gran’faither afore him. I urged the step hot, and I liked the thought of it.”
“So did he—else he wouldn’t have gone.”
“You caan’t say that. He might have done different but for love of me. ’T is I as have stood in his way in this thing.”
“Doan’t fret yourself with such a thought, Mrs. Blanchard; Will’s the sort as steers his awn ship. Theer’s no blame ’pon you. An’ for that matter, if your faither saved gude money at Newtake, why caan’t Will?”
“Times be changed. You’ve got to make two blades o’ grass graw wheer wan did use, if you wants to live nowadays.”
“Hard work won’t hurt him.”
“But it will if he reckons’t is all wasted work. What’s more bitter than toiling to no account, an’ knawin all the while you be?”
“Not all wasted work, surely?”