‘Yes, I believe that is so.’
‘It wur that dog as welly killed Moses Fletcher, wurnd it?’
‘I think it was,’ replied Mr. Penrose.
‘And haa is owd Moses sin yo' dipped him o'er agen? It 'll tak' some watter and grace to mak' him ought like, I reckon. But they tell me he's takken to gien his brass away. It 'll noan dry th' een o' th' poor fo'k he's made weep, tho'—will it, Mr. Penrose?’
‘Perhaps not, Mrs. Halstead; but Moses is an altered man.’
‘And noan afore it wur time. But what's that noise in th' yard? It saands like th' colliers. What con they be doin' aat o' th' pit at this time? They're noan off the shift afore ten, and it's nobbud hawve-past six.’
In another moment the door of the cottage was thrown open and a collier entered, white with falling snow, and breathless. When he had sufficiently recovered, he said:
‘Gronny, little Job Wallwork's getten crushed in th' four-foot, and it's a'most up wi' him. They're bringin' on him here.’
‘Whatever wilto say next, lad? Poor little felley, where's he getten hurt? On his yed?’
‘Nay; he's crushed in his in'ards, and he hasnd spokken sin'. They're carryin' him on owd Malachi's coite.’ (coat).