In spite of his grey moustache and thin grey hair, the elderly man had a
face young and almost delicate, like a young man's. His blue eyes
twinkled with some inscrutable source of pleasure, his skin was fine and
tender, his nose delicately arched. His grey hair being slightly ruffled,
he had a debonair look, as of a youth who is in love.
'We mun tell 'im it's come,' he said slowly, and turning he called:
'Alfred--Alfred! Wheer's ter gotten to?'
Then he turned again to the group.
'Get up then, Maggie, lass, get up wi' thee. Tha ma'es too much o'
th'bod.'
A young man approached, wearing rough khaki and kneebreeches. He was
Danish looking, broad at the loins.
'I's come back then,' said the father to the son; 'leastwise, he's bin
browt back, flyed ower the Griff Low.'
The son looked at me. He had a devil-may-care bearing, his cap on one
side, his hands stuck in the front pockets of his breeches. But he said
nothing.
'Shall you come in a minute, Master,' said the elderly woman, to me.
'Ay, come in an' ha'e a cup o' tea or summat. You'll do wi' summat,
carrin' that bod. Come on, Maggie wench, let's go in.'
So we went indoors, into the rather stuffy, overcrowded living-room, that
was too cosy, and too warm. The son followed last, standing in the
doorway. The father talked to me.
Maggie put out the tea-cups. The mother went into the dairy again.
'Tha'lt rouse thysen up a bit again, now, Maggie,' the father-in-law
said--and then to me: ''ers not bin very bright sin' Alfred came whoam,
an' the bod flyed awee.
Pages:
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142