“I aun’t going to be slaughtered, mother—not if I know it. It’s I who’ll do the slaughtering.”
“You who’d go swummy at wringing a cockerel’s neck.... Reckon a German ull taake some killing—want more’n a twist and a pull.”
“He’ll want no more’n I’ve got to give him. Now, doan’t you taake on so, mother—there’s naun to vrother about. Maybe I woan’t be off so soon after all—it’s only an idea that’s going round. And if I do go, I aun’t afeard. I’ve a feeling as no harm ull come to me.”
“And I’ve a feeling as it will. Howsumdever ... I mun think as I’ve got four children left ... and a hoame ... and a husband”—remembering her blessings one by one.
Mus’ Beatup was inclined to be contemptuous.
“Wot fur are they sending you out now? You’ve bin training scarce five month.”
“Many of the boys git less.”
“Maybe they do, wud Governmunt being wot it is. As if anyone wud know cudn’t see as it taakes ten year to maake a looker.”
“Reckon things have to go quicker in the Army than on a farm. If we all took ten years to git ready, the Bosches ud have us middling soon.”