down the chimney, uttered many a sudden yell and
ghostly moan, struck with claws invisible at the glowing heart of the
peat fire, and sent red sparks dancing from a corona of faint blue
flame.

[13] _Scad_ = the outer rind of the peat, with ling and grass
still adhering to it.

"Winter's comin' quick," said Phoebe, biting her thread.

"Ess, winter's allus comin' up here. The fight begins again so soon as
ever 't is awver--again and again and again, 'cordin' to the workin'
years of a man's life. Then he turns on his back for gude an' all, an'
takes his rest, wheer theer's no more seasons, nor frost, nor sunshine,
in the world under."

"You'm glumpy, dear heart. What's amiss? What's crossed 'e? Tell me, an'
I lay I'll find a word to smooth it away. Nothin' contrary happened to
market?"

"No, no--awnly my nature. When the wind's spelling winter in the
chimbley, an' the yether's dead again, 't is wisht lookin' forrard. The
airth 's allus dyin', an' the life of her be that short, an' grubbing of
bare food an' rent out of her is sour work after many years. Thank God
I'm a hopeful, far-seem' chap, an' sound as a bell; but I doan't make
money for all my sweat, that's the mystery."

"You will some day. Luck be gwaine to turn 'fore long, I hope. An' us
have got what's better 'n money, what caan't be bought."

"The li'l bwoy?"

"Aye; if us hadn't nothin' but him, theer's many would envy our lot."

"Childer's no such gert blessin', neither."

"Will! How can you say it?"

"I do say it. We 'm awnly used to keep up the breed, then thrawed o' wan
side. I'm sick o' men an' women folks. Theer's too many of 'em."

"But childer--our li'l Will. The moosic of un be sweeter than song o'
birds all times, an' you'd be fust to say so if you wasn't out of
yourself."

"He 'm a braave, small lad enough; but theer again! Why should he have
been pitched into this here home? He might have been put in a palace
just as easy, an' born of a royal queen mother, 'stead o' you; he might
have opened his eyes 'pon marble walls an' jewels an' precious stones,
'stead of whitewash an' a peat fire. Be that baaby gwaine to thank us
for bringing him in the world, come he graw up? Not him! Why should he?"

"But he will. We 'm his faither an' mother. Do 'e love your mother less
for bearin' you in a gypsy van? Li'l Will's to pay us noble for all our
toil some day, an' be a joy to our grey hairs an' a prop to our auld
age, please God."

"Ha, ha!-