Lisbeth Bede loves her son with the love of a woman to whom her first-born has come late in life.
It is such a fond anxious mother's voice that you hear, as Lisbeth says, "Well, my lad, it's gone seven by th' clock.
said Lisbeth, following him, and knitting uninterruptedly, though she looked at her son very anxiously.
Why, thee canstna get the coffin ready," said Lisbeth.
Poor Lisbeth did not hear this threat for the first time, and if she had been wise she would have gone away quietly and said nothing for the next hour.
But Gyp was watching his master with wrinkled brow and ears erect, puzzled at this unusual course of things; and though he glanced at Lisbeth when she called him, and moved his fore-paws uneasily, well knowing that she was inviting him to supper, he was in a divided state of mind, and remained seated on his haunches, again fixing his eyes anxiously on his master.
Adam said, in a tone of encouraging command; and Gyp, apparently satisfied that duty and pleasure were one, followed Lisbeth into the house-place.
But no sooner had he licked up his supper than he went back to his master, while Lisbeth sat down alone to cry over her knitting.
At last he called for a light and a draught of water (beer was a thing only to be drunk on holidays), and Lisbeth ventured to say as she took it in, "Thy supper stan's ready for thee, when thee lik'st.
Adam's niver touched a bit o' victual sin' home he's come," said Lisbeth.
Come, then," said Lisbeth, "but donna thee ate the taters, for Adam 'ull happen ate 'em if I leave 'em stannin'.
Donna talk to me about's marr'in'," said Lisbeth, crying afresh.