Hugh Ritson twisted about, and looked him steadily in the face.
"What is your name, my man?"
"Davey Braithwaite."
"Then you are the young fellow whose wife died last week?"
"Ey," with a drooping head.
"Your child died before her, did it not?"
"Ey, he did, poor laal thing!"
"Your father and mother are gone, too?"
"They're gone, for sure!"
"And you have neither kith nor kin left in all the world?"