o-morrow is poor Jim's birthday.
He'd ha' been twenty-six if he'd lived till to-morrow."

"You always seem very sorry for Jim," said old William musingly.

"Ah! I do. Such a stay to mother as he'd always ha' been! She'd never
have had to work in her old age if he had continued strong, poor Jim!"

"What was his age when 'a died?"

"Four hours and twenty minutes, poor Jim. 'A was born as might be at
night; and 'a didn't last as might be till the morning. No, 'a didn't
last. Mother called en Jim on the day that would ha' been his
christening day if he had lived; and she's always thinking about en. You
see he died so very young."

"Well, 'twas rather youthful," said Michael.

"Now to my mind that woman is very romantical on the matter o' children?"
said the tranter, his eye sweeping his audience.

"Ah, well she mid be," said Leaf. "She had twelve regular one after
another, and they all, except myself, died very young; either before they
was born or just afterwards."

"Pore feller, too. I suppose th'st want to come wi' us?" the tranter
murmured.

"Well, Leaf, you shall come wi' us as yours is such a melancholy family,"
said old William rather sadly.

"I never see such a melancholy family as that afore in my life," said
Reuben. "There's Leaf's mother, poor woman! Every morning I see her
eyes mooning out through the panes of glass like a pot-sick
winder-flower; and as Leaf sings a very high treble, and we don't know
what we should do without en for upper G, we'll let en come as a trate,
poor feller."

"Ay, we'll let en come, 'a b'lieve," said Mr. Penny, looking up, as the
pull happened to be at that moment.

"Now," continued the tranter, dispersing by a new tone of voice these
digressions about Leaf; "as to going to see the pa'son, one of us might
call and ask en his meaning, and 'twould be just as well done; but it
will add a bit of flourish to the cause if the quire waits on him as a
body. Then the great thing to mind is, not for any of our fellers to be
nervous; so before starting we'll one and all come to my house and have a
rasher of bacon; then every man-jack het a pint of cider into his inside;
then we'll warm up an extra drop wi' some mead and a bit of ginger; every
one take a thimbleful--just a glimmer of a drop, mind ye, no more, to
finish off his inner man--and march off to Pa'son Mayble. Why, sonnies,
a man's not himself till he is fortified wi' a bit and a drop? We shall
be able to loo