And then the chilled and startled boy was carried down to the men below.
In a moment Oliver o' Deaf Martha's seized his boy and wrapped him in the bosom of his coat, hugging and kissing him as though he would impart the warmth of his own life to the little fellow.
‘It's noan like thee to mak' a do like that, Oliver,’ said Amos, unmoved, ‘but thaa shaps (shapes) weel.’ And as the child began to cry and struggle, Amos continued, ‘Sithee! he's feeard on thee. He's noan used to it. He thinks he ought to hev a lickin' or summat.’
But Oliver continued his caresses.
‘Well, Oliver, I've never sin thee takken th' road afore.’
‘Nowe, lad! I've never lost a chilt afore.’