Not that Mary's knowledge
was very profound, but she had seen a terrestrial globe, and knew
where to find France and the continents on a map.
After this long talking Alice seemed lost for a time in reverie; and
the girls respecting her thoughts, which they suspected had wandered
to the home and scenes of her childhood, were silent. All at once
she recalled her duties as hostess, and by an effort brought back
her mind to the present time.
"Margaret, thou must let Mary hear thee sing. I don't know about
fine music myself, but folks say Marget is a rare singer, and I know
she can make me cry at any time by singing 'Th' Owdham Weaver.' Do
sing that, Marget, there's a good lass."
With a faint smile, as if amused at Alice's choice of a song,
Margaret began.
Do you know "The Oldham Weaver?" Not unless you are Lancashire born
and bred, for it is a complete Lancashire ditty. I will copy it for
you.
THE OLDHAM WEAVER.
I.
Oi'm a poor cotton-weyver, as mony a one knoowas,
Oi've nowt for t' yeat, an' oi've worn eawt my clooas,
Yo'ad hardly gi' tuppence for aw as oi've on,
My clogs are both brosten, an' stuckings oi've none,
Yo'd think it wur hard,
To be browt into th' warld,
To be--clemmed,* an' do th' best as yo con.
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