“Fancy, I didn’t expect to see thee here, chiel,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m not well, father.”
“How’s that?”
“Because I think of things.”
“What things can you have to think o’ so mortal much?”
“You know, father.”
“You think I’ve been cruel to thee in saying that that penniless Dick o’ thine sha’n’t marry thee, I suppose?”
No answer.
“Well, you know, Fancy, I do it for the best, and he isn’t good enough for thee. You know that well enough.” Here he again looked at her as she lay. “Well, Fancy, I can’t let my only chiel die; and if you can’t live without en, you must ha’ en, I suppose.”
“O, I don’t want him like that; all against your will, and everything so disobedient!” sighed the invalid.