"A lad," says she, an' cooms a step nearer ti see what 'e wer at.
"Shoo'll be a rare wun for t' lads when shoo's a bit bigger, ah'se warran'," says 'e, wi' a laugh; an' 'e goes on carvin' t' bit o' wood in a waay 'at wer wunnerful ti me. Soon t' head an' shoolthers appeared, an' then t' legs an' arms, an' all t' while t' tahtle lass crept nearer an' nearer, an' by t' tahm t' lad wer doon, shoo wer sittin' on 'is knee an' chatterin' awaay ti 'im as if 'e wer' an owd friend.
That woon moother's 'eart, for shoo's powerful set on t' lahtle lass, seem' shoo's t' oanly wun wi' 'ave—an' ah reckon ah weant far be'ind 'er i' that—an' befoor 'e left shoo'd arst 'im ti taake 'is dinner wi' us Soonday next. Arter that, Gus wer in an' oot continual, an' 'e an't' lahtle lass wer as thick as thieves. It wer pratty ti see 'er perched o' 'is knee, wi' 'is arm roond 'er, an' ti 'ear 'er pratty prattle, all aboot 'er dolls an' toys an' sooch-like. 'E used ti call 'er 'is lahtle sweet-'eart, an' saay sha mun marry 'im when sha wer growed a bit, an' t' lahtle lass 'ud look oop i' 'is faace, as graave as graave, an' promise ti be 'is lahtle wife. 'Twer as pratty a pictur as 'eart could wish to see them thegither, an' 'e niver seemed ti tire o' 'er coompany, or care ti talk wi' me or t' missus when t' lahtle lass wer theer.
Well tahm went on, an' t' job e'd coom doon 'ere for wer nigh finished—layin' rails o' new line it wer—an' 'e wer talkin' o' leavin', for 'e weant fra' oor parts; when wun daay—ah mind it wer t' first o' April, for theer'd been soom foolin' amoong t' lads earlier i' t' daay, an' t' blackthorn wer buddin' i' t' 'edges—we wer setting on t' railway bank eatin' oor dinners. Gus wer moor talkative than ordinary that daay; ah mind 'e'd been tellin' us o' t' waay they did 'arvestin' i' 'is parts—Lancashire waay—an' 'arvest-'oams, an' sooch-like, when all of a soodden ah caught sight o' ma lahtle lass runnin' along t' line. It did gie ma a toorn, for t' doon traain 'ad been signalled two or three minutes sin', an' even as ah caught sight o' 'er, ah 'eerd it roombling along i' t' distance.
"Ma God!" ah cried. "Look theer!"
Jack Wilson—'im as lives i' yon cottage wi' t' creepers doon by t' church—shoots as lood as 'e could, "Get oft t' line, bairn! Get off t' line!" Bud Polly, sha didn't taak noa 'eed ti 'im.
Then afoor ah 'ad got ma wits aboot ma, or 'ad ony idea what 'e wer goin ti do, Gus 'ad joomped doon fra' t' bank, an' were roonnin' for 'is loife doon t' line ti meet t' lahtle lass. It wer awful to see 'im, while every moment t' thoonder o' t' train com nearer.
"Is t' man mad?" cried Wilson. "It's certain death." An' even as 'e spoke, t' train com roond t' corner.
Polly stood still, terrified, an' Gus ran on reet inti t' teeth o' t' train. Ah turned deadly sick, for ah niver thowt 'e would be i' tahm, an' it seemed nobbut a waaste o' two lives; bud 'e reached 'er joost afoor t' train did. Ah seed 'im catch 'er oop an' toss 'er on ti t' bank, an' then—then t' traan wer on 'im, an' we saw noothing moor till it 'ad past. Then ah ran ti wheer 'e wer lyin', an' an awful sight it wer. It 'aunts ma yet, thoo it's nigh on ten year sin. 'E wer livin', poor chap, an' 'e looked up at ma wi' a smile, though t' death dews were gathering on 'is faace.
"T' lahtle lass?" 'e asked anxiously.