"Saafe an' well," ah answered. "Eh, Gus, lad, tha' shouldn't 'a doon it. Ah reckon she weant woorth it."
"Niver saay that!" 'e said. "Wheer is sha? Ah'd like fine to bid her good-bye."
Polly wer cryin' wi' fright on t' bank cloas at 'and. Ah called 'er, bud at first sha 'ung back, not knawin' as it wer 'er friend as lay theer, a sickenin' sight, an' not fit for a bairn ti see.
"Niver mind, John," 'e said, sadly enough. "It's better soa. Ah wouldn't like 'er ti think o' ma like this." But ah went an' fetched 'er, an' bade 'er ti thank 'im for saavin' 'er loife.
"Nay, nay," 'e said, smoilin' oop at 'er. "Good-bye, lahtle sweet'eart. Tha'lt 'ave ti get anoother lad noo."
"Nay, ah'll waait for thee an' be thy lahtle wife," says Polly sturdily, not un'erstan'in', poor lahtle lass, as 'e wer dyin'.
"Tha'lt 'ave ti waait till tha gets ti t' New Jeroosalem, then," 'e answers, "if soa be as they'll let ma in." An' at that 'e looks serious.
Ah maade 'aste ti cheer 'im oop.
"Nay, lad, thoo need 'ave noa fear o' that," ah says. "Tha mind hoo He said, 'Inasmooch as ye 'a doon it to wun o' t' least o' these, ye 'a doon it unto Me.'"
Hoo 'is faace lighted oop at that word! Then a spasm o' agony crossed it, an' t' death rattle began i' 'is throat.