His long, massive features were
embrowned by habitual exposure to the weather, and he wore the
mud-stained fustian dress of a quarryman. He was followed by a healthy
lad, about twelve years of age,--a kind of pocket-copy of himself. They
were as like one another as a new shilling and an old crown-piece. The
lad's dress was of the same kind as his father's, and he seemed to have
studiously acquired the same cart-horse gait, as if his limbs were as
big and as stark as his father's.
"Well, Skedlock," said Nanny, "thae's getten Joseph witho, I see. Does
he go to schoo yet ?"
"Nay; he reckons to worch i'th delph wi' me, neaw."
"Nay, sure. Does he get ony wage?"
"Nawe," replied Skedlock; "he's drawn his wage wi' his teeth, so fur.
But he's larnin', yo' known--he's larnin'. Where's yo'r Jone? I want to
see him abeawt some plants."
"Well," said Nanny, "sit tho down a minute. Hasto no news? Thae'rt
seldom short of a crack o' some mak."
"Nay," said Skedlock, scratching his rusty pate, "aw don't know 'at
aw've aught fresh." But when he had looked thoughtfully into the fire
for a minute or so, his brown face lighted up with a smile, and drawing
a chair up, he said, "Howd, Nanny; han yo yerd what a do they had at th'
owd chapel, yesterday?"
"Nawe.
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