‘Thaa's sin' it mony a time afore, lad, hesn't ta? Is there aught fresh abaat it?’
‘There's summat fresh i' mi een, awm thinkin'. Like as I never seed th' owd country look as grand as it looks this morn.’
‘Aw'll hev a look wi' thee, Matt; ther'll happen be summat fresh for my een and o'.’
And so saying, Miriam crept to his side and, in unblushing innocence, took her stand at the window with Matt.
It was a comely picture which the little birds saw as they twittered round and peeped through the ivy-covered casement where Matt and Miriam stood framed in the morning radiance and in the glow of domestic love—she with loose tresses lying over her bare shoulders, all glossy in the sunshine, her head resting on the strong arm of him who owned her, and drew her in gentle pride to his beating heart—the two together looking out in all the joy of purity and all the unconscious ease of nature on the sun-flooded moors.
‘It's grand, lass, isn't it?’
‘Yi, Matt, it is forsure.’
‘And them hills—they're awlus slumberin', am't they? Doesto know, I sometimes wish I could be as quiet as they are. They fret noan; weet or fine, it's all th' same to them.’
‘They're a bit o'er quiet for me, lad. I'd rather hev a tree misel. It tosses, thaa knows, and tews i' th' tempest, and laughs i' th' sunleet, and fades i' autumn. It's some like a human bein' is a tree.’