"I'm glad it is na," she responded. "Art tha loike him?"
"I don't know."
"I hope tha art na, if he did na ha' luck. Theer's a great deal i' luck." Then, with a quick change of subject,—"How did tha loike th' sermont?"
"I am not sure," he answered, "that I know that either. How did you like it yourself?"
"Ay," with an air of elderly approval, "it wur a good un. Mester Hixon allus gi'es us a good un. He owts wi' what he's getten to say. I loike a preacher as owts wi' it."
A few moments later, when they rose to go home, her mind seemed suddenly to revert to a former train of thought.
"Wur theer money i' that thing thy feyther wur tryin' at?" she asked.
"Not for him, it seemed."
"Ay; but theer mought be fur thee. Tha mayst ha' more in thee than he had, an' mought mak' summat on it. I'd nivver let owt go as had money i' it. Tha'dst mak' a better rich mon than Haworth."