y"
every one said. It was the kind of festivity which, as a rule, the
Wainwrights much appreciated, but on this occasion they were rather
affronted at being bidden to assist, and both the young men declared
stoutly that they'd noan go if they knew it.

"Why not?" growled feyther from his big chair in the corner. (He was
now well enough to hobble down stairs.) "You yoong chaps thinks too
mich o' yoursels--_I'm_ goin' as how 'tis."

Mrs. Wainwright positively gasped. "Gaffer, thou'll noan think o' sich
a thing--thou as couldn't so mich as walk on Tuesday! I'm sure thou
needn't be puttin' thysel' out for Martin Tyrer!"

"I'm goin' as how 'tis," repeated Bob gloomily; he had been very
gloomy all these days. "I'm goin' to foller Martin Tyrer to his long
home, if I ha' to hop," he added sternly. "Him an' me has walked
together for fifty-two year, an' I'll walk at Martin Tyrer's buryin'!
Theer now, my mind's made up."

Young Bob and Tom stared at each other, then they remarked,
unwillingly, that if he went of course they would go too; upon which
old Bob returned that they might please theirsel's--_he_ was going.

When Doctor Craddock was told of this decision, he said that now
Robert was so much better it might not do him any harm, adding that he
thought it showed very good feeling on his part. Mrs. Wainwright was
much elated at the compliment, but Robert himself received it in stony
silence. When the report circulated round the village every one was
touched and edified. Wasn't it beautiful, people said, and who'd have
thought Robert Wainwright had that much feeling! He had a wonderful
good heart, Robert had--he wasn't one to say much, but he felt the
more. Mrs. Wainwright went about shaking her head and casting up her
eyes. She had begun by being exasperated at this sudden determination,
but finding how very much other folks admired and respected her Robert
for it, she had gradually become infected by the general enthusiasm;
and, indeed, when she hunted out and carefully brushed her husband's
Sunday clothes, she murmured tearfully to her daughters that "Feyther
was a'most too good for this warld," and that "it 'ud be mich"--with a
sniff--"if they weren't gettin' ready blacks to weer for him next!"

"It mak's me go all of a shake," the good woman added. "Eh, I cannot
tell ye! It seems onnatural-like. Yer Feyther's noan like 'issel'. To
think of his takkin' on that gate about owd Martin Tyrer; mony a one
'ud be fain enou