And a gleam of firelight fell on the darkening wall, and lit up an old text which hung there, and they both read, ‘Children are a heritage from God.’
‘An' arto baan to keep it a secret, lass?’ asked Matt, when once the spell of silence was broken.
‘Why shouldn't I? There's no one as aw know as has any reet to know but thee.’
‘But they'll noan be so long i' findin' it aat. Then they'll never let us alone, lass. There'll be some gammin', aw con tell thee.’
‘I'm noan feared on 'em, Matt. I con stan' mi corner if thaa con.’
‘Yi, a dozen corners naa, lass. Thaa knows it used to be hard afore when they were all chaffin' me at th' factory, but they can talk their tungs off naa for aught I care. But they'll soon find it aat.’
‘None as soon as thaa thinks, Matt. They've gan o'er sperrin (being inquisitive) long sin', and when they're off th' scent they're on th' wrang scent.’
‘Aw think aw'd tell mi mother, lass, if aw were thee.’
‘Let her find it aat, as t'others 'll hev to do.’