n' it belangs to me. What my land
produces belangs to me, noa matter whether it's childer or chicken
weed!" Things wor i' this state when one o' th' dowters showed her heead
aght o' th' winder an' cried, "Mother, it's wakkened, an' it's suckin'
it's thumb as if it wor clammed to deeath." "Mary," sed th' owd man,
"does ta mean to starve that child to deeath? coss if tha cannot luk
after it, aw'll luk after it mysel'." This wor th' signal for all to goa
inside, an' a bonnier pictur' yo nivver saw nor that war when owd Mary
sat wi' that little thing on her lap, givin' it sops, an' three big,
strong, but kind-hearted fellows, sat raand, watchin' ivvery bit it tuk
as if ther own livin' depended on it. Ther war a gooid deeal o' 'fendin'
an' provin', but whear that child coom fra an' who wor it's mother
noabody could tell. Time passed, an' as Mary sed th' child thrived like
wood, an' ivverybody called it "Burt's Babby." Burt wor a decent,
hard-workin' lad, an' had for a long time luk'd longin'ly at one o'
Mary's dowters, an' one day ther wor a stir i' th' village, an' Burt war
seen donned up like a dummy at a cloas shop, an' wi' a young woman
linked to his arm as if shoo thowt he wor goin' to flyaway, an' it
wanted all her weight to keep him daan, an' claise behind, wor th' owd
farmer an' his wife, owd Mary Muggin, an' th' little babby.

It didn't tak th' parson monny minits to tee' em together for better an'
for worse, an' then Burt took th' babby an' gave it to his bride,
sayin', "Here's summat towards haase keepin' anyway." An' shoo tuk it
an' kussed it as if it had been ther own. They went to live at a nice
little farm, an' th' owd fowk gave' em a gooid start. Sally Bray had
allus shown a fondness for Burt's babby, 'at fowk could hardly accaant
for, an' shoo went an' offered her sarvices as sarvant an' nurse, an'
nivver did ony body seem soa fond of a child as Sally did o' that.

Things went on nicely for a while, an' then th' scarlet fever coom;
every day saw long sorrowful processions follerin' little coffins, an'
ivery body luk'd sad an' spake low.

At last, Burt's babby wor takken sick, an' all they could do couldn't
save it, an' early one mornin' it shut it's een, an' went its way to
join those 'at had gone before.

Burt an' his wife wor varry mich troubled, but it war Sally Bray 'at
suffered mooast. They couldn't get her to leave that cold still form,
soa they left her with it till her grief should be softened; an