"Doed was well-nigh starved to deeath wi' cowd an' hunger, an' t' poor
lad started roarin' same as if his heart would breek. But he'd sense
enif to shout for help, an' efter a while there com an answer. His
father an' t' lads frae t' village had bin seekin' him all ower t' wood,
and at last they fan him an' hugged him home an' put him to bed. 'Twere
a lang while afore he were better, an' choose what fowks said, he'd
niver set foot i' t' wood agean without he'd a bit o' witchwood i' his
pocket, cut frae a rowan-tree on St Helen's Day."




Two Letters


Annie was busy at the washtub, and it was her mother, who had come to
live with her and her baby while her husband was at the Front, that
answered the postman's knock and brought in the parcel.

"Annie, here's a parcil thro' France. It'll be thy Jim that's sent it. I
can tell his writin' onywhere, though his hand do seem a bit shaky
like."

"What's he sendin' naa, I'd like to know?" asked Annie, in a tone of
real or feigned indifference. "He's allus wearin' his brass on all maks
o' oddments that he's fun i' them mucky trenches, or bowt off uther
lads. Nay, tha can oppen it thisen, muther; my hands is all covered wi'
suds."