indictment,
and I hope I shall be let off with nothing worse than a lecture."

"Nay, it's none for me to lecture anybody, for I know as little about
the rights o' things as I know about bonnets, but I've lived long
enough to know 'at' man's born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards,'
as t' Owd Book puts it; an' if you're goin' to fret your heart out
every time it comes your way you'll spend your life in a mournin' coach.

"'Cordin' to my way o' thinkin', Miss 'Olden, so long as human natur's
what it is you'll never get rid o' sufferin' an' trouble, an' what good
does it do to worrit yourself to death over what you can't mend? If
you could mend it ever so little it 'ud be another matter. Now look at
it i' this way. We can all choose our own road when it comes to a
question o' right an' wrong, an' we should be in a poor way if we
couldn't. My plough goes where t' horse pulls it, an' t' horse goes
where I guide it. Now, neither t' plough nor t' horse has any
responsibility, so to speak; but I'd rather be a man an' have t' power
to choose where I go, even if I go wrong, nor be a beast or a machine.

"Now yon lad has gone wrong, an' I'm sorry for 'im, but accordin' to t'
Owd Book it's no use cryin' over spilt milk, an' both 'im an' us 'll
have to make t' best on 't. So will Sar'-Ann; so will Ginty's mother.
Ginty knows he's done wrong, an' he's known t' difference between right
an' wrong all along t' road. He's chosen, an' chosen badly, poor lad,
an' he's sufferin' for it, wherever he is, an' 'e'll have to sup more
sorrow still, there's no doubt about it, an' a bitter cup it'll be.

"But don't you see, this same bitter cup is med'cine for t' lad at same
time. He's gone into t' far country now, but like t' other prodigal
he'll come to himself, as t' Owd Book says, one o' these days, an' we
shall have to leave him there till that time comes.

"But now, take t' lad's mother. She's chosen her own way an' all.
Ginty's sin were greediness an' love o' money, an' his mother's sin is
pride. We haven't all t' same nature, an' I'm not settin' up for a
preacher, for Reuben Goodenough doesn't live up to his name by a long
chalk, so I'm not judgin' t' woman, like a Pharisee.

"But I know this, if she'd just ha' let t' neighbours 'elp her a bit,
her 'eart wouldn't have been so sore, and t' blow 'ud have been
lightened for her. We're a roughish lot i' Windyridge, but there isn't
many 'at wouldn't have made shift to help t' o