'Durnd, mother, durnd! I'm noan come wom' to be kissed nor
forgiven. I've nobbud come wom' to dee.'

'What saysto, lass?' exclaimed Mrs. Stott. 'Come wom' to dee? Nay,
thaa's bin deead long enugh a'ready; it's time thaa begun to live,
and thank God thaa's come back to live at wom'.'

The girl shook her head, a stony stare in her eye, her mouth drawn
into a hard and immobile line. And then, in cold tones, she
continued:

'Nay, mother; I've hed enugh o' life. I tell thee I've come wom'
to dee.'

'Amanda,' sobbed the mother, 'if thaa taks on like that thaa'll
kill me. Thaa's welly done for me a'ready, but I con live naa
thaa's come back, if thaa'll nobbud live an' o', and live wi' me.
Sit thee daan. There's th' owd cheer (chair) waiting for thee.
It's thi cheer, Amanda; awlus wor, and awlus will be. Sit thee
daan. It looks some onely (lonely) baat thee.'

There stood Amanda's chair, the chair of her girlhood, the chair
in which she had sung through the long winter nights, in which her
deft fingers had wrought needlework, the envy of Rehoboth. The old
arms mutely opened as though to welcome her; the rockers, too,
seemed ready to yield that oscillation so seductive to the jaded
frame. And the trimmings! and the cushion! the same old pattern,
somewhat faded, perhaps, but as warm and cosy as in the days of
yore. It was the chair, too, at which she used to kneel, the chair
that had so often caught the warm breath from her lips as she had