‘If I'm not mistaken, that is Moses Fletcher's voice,’ replied Mr. Penrose. ‘Listen!’
‘You're reet; that's Moses' voice, or I'm a Jew. What's he doin' aat a neet like this, wi' Oliver's dog? I thought he'd bed enough o' that beast to last his lifetime.’
The two men were now leaning over a stone wall and looking down into the ravine below. Suddenly Malachi pricked up his ears, and said:
‘An' that's Amos's voice an' all. By Guy, if it hedn't bin for Oliver o' Deaf Martha's I should ha' said it wur hevin' a prayer-meetin' i' th' snow. What's brought owd Amos aat wi' Moses—to say naught o' th' dog?’
Just then an oath reached the ears of the listening men.
‘No prayer-meeting, Malachi,’ said Mr. Penrose, laughing.
‘Nowe—nobbud unless they're like Ab' o' th' Heights, who awlus swore a bit i' his prayers, because, as he said, swearin' wur mighty powerful. But him as swore just naa is Oliver hissel—I'll lay mi Sunday hat on't.’
By this time the moving figures on the snow were approaching the foot of the hill whereon the two men stood, and Malachi, raising his hands to his mouth, greeted them with a loud halloo.
Immediately there came a reply. It was from Oliver himself, in a loud, importuning voice:
‘Han yo' fun him?’