long ago; and talking first to herself, and then to her son and
his wife, she continued, in a crooning voice:

'It's fifty year come next Whisundy sin thi faither brought me
here, lad--fifty year, and it only seems like yesterday. We were
wed at th' owd church i' Manchester. Dan o' Nodlocks, as used to
live up at th' Chapel-hill, drove us there and back in his new
spring-cart; and what wi' gettin' there and being spliced, and
comin' wom' we were all th' day at th' job. Th' sun were just
showin' hissel o'er th' hill yonder when we started, and it were
goin' daan o'er th' moors when we geet back; and thi faither,
Jimmy, as he lifted me daan from th' cart and put me in th' porch
yonder, kissed me and said: "Sunshine aatside, Jenny, and sunshine
in." An' that's fifty year ago, lad, and I've never slept out o'
th' owd haas from that neet to this, and I durnd want to leave it
naa.'

'Well, durnd tak' on like that, mother; if tha' does thaa'll break
my heart. We shall happen stop yet, who knows?' and Jim almost
choked with the lie which he told in his wild anguish to stay the
torrent of his mother's grief.

But the crooning old woman heeded him not. With eyes fixed on the
fire she continued to read the horoscope of the past:

'We were some happy, those first years, I can tell thee. Then
little Billy wor born. Poor little Billy! Thaa's been a good lad,
Jim, but I often think what a good un little Billy would ha' been
if he'd lived! But he deed. Ay! I con remember it as though it
were nobbud yesterneet. It was abaat th' deead hour, and I wakened