Frances Hodgson Burnett

“ Langley's good-humored laugh had a touch of conscious power in it. If it depended upon “th' missus” he was safe enough. His bright good looks and gay grace of manner never failed with the women. The most practical and uncompromising melted, however unwillingly, before his sunshine, and the suggestion of chivalric deference which seemed a second nature with him. So it was easy enough to parley with “th' missus.”
“A Lancashire lad, Mrs. Janner,” he said, “and so I know you'll take care of him. Lancashire folk have a sort of fellow feeling for each other, you see ”

“ The dullness seemed to have dropped away from the commonplace face as if it had been a veil; the eyes were burning with a hungry pathos and fire and passion; they were raised to his and held him with the power of an indescribable anguish. “Dunnot forget as I'm here,” the voice growing sharp and intense, “ready an' eager an' waitin' fur th' toime to come. Let me do summat or brave summat or suffer summat, for God's sake!” ”

“ The same unflagging patience showed itself, the same silent constancy and self-sacrifice. Scarcely a man or woman had not some cause to remember him with gratitude, and there was not one of those who had jested at and neglected him but thought of their jests and neglect with secret shame. ”

“ The last warm rays of the sun, already sinking behind the mountains, seemed rather to take pride in showing what a debonair young fellow he was, in glowing kindly upon his handsome face and strong, graceful figure, and touching up to greater brightness his bright hair. ”

“ What's takken howd on me?” his voice breaking and the words ending in a sharp hysterical gasp like a sob.
Bess wrung her towel with a desperate strength which spoke of no small degree of tempestuous feeling. Her brow knit itself and her lips were compressed. “What's happened?” she demanded after a pause. “I conna mak' thee out.”
The look that fell upon her companion's face had something of shame in it. His eyes left the mountain side and drooped upon his clasped hands. “Theer wur a lass coom to look at 'th place today,” he said—“a lady lass, wi' her feyther—an' him. ”

“ Happen th' Lord knows what life wur give her fur—I dunnot, but it's ower now—an' happen she knows hersen'. I hurried here to-neet,” she added, battling with a sob, “as soon as I heerd as she was missin', th' truth struck to my heart, an' I thowt as I should be here first, but I wasna I ha' not gotten no more to say.”
They went back to the shanty, and with her own hands she did for the poor clay the last service it would need, Langley and his companion waiting the while outside. When her task was at an end she came to them, and this time it was Langley who addressed himself to her. ”

“ Janner in a fretful wail, “fur they say as it's worse i' these parts than it is i' England—th' heat mak's it worse—an' here we are i' th' midst o' th' summer-toime, an' theer's no knowin' wheer it'll end. I wish tha'd takken my advice, Janner, an' stayed i' Lancashire. Ay, I wish we wur safe at home. Better less wage an' more safety. Yo'd niwer ha' coom if yo'd listened to me.”
“Howd thy tongue, mother,” said Bess, but the words were not ungently spoken, notwithstanding their bluntness. “Dunnot let us mak' it worse than it need be. Seth, lad, eat thy breakfast.” ”

“ I have tried to recollect every lad in Deepton, and I have no remembrance of you.”
“Happen not, mester,” meekly. “I nivver wur much noticed, yo' see: I'm one o' them as foak is more loike to pass by.”
An early train arriving next morning brought visitors to the Creek—a business-like elderly gentleman and his daughter, a pretty girl, with large bright eyes and an innocent rosy face, which became rosier and prettier than ever when Mr. Ed ward Langley advanced from the dépôt shed with uncovered head and extended hand. “Cathie!” ”

“ Yo' wur nivver loike to be soft afore,” somewhat testily. “An' it's noan his good looks, neyther.”
“No,” said Bess—“it's noan his good looks.”
“Happen it's his lack on 'em, then?”
“Happen it is.” And there the discussion ended for want of material.
There was one person, however, who did not join in the jesting; and this was Langley. When he began to understand the matter he regarded the two with sympathetic curiosity and interest. Why should not their primitive and uncouth love develop and form a tie to bind the homely lives together, and warm and brighten them? ”

“ When he lifted his hat and rode away, the group watched him until he was almost out of sight, the general sentiment expressing itself in every countenance.
“Theer's summat noice about that theer young chap,” Janner remarked with the slowness of a man who was rather mystified by the fascination under whose influence he found himself—“sum-mat as goes wi' th' grain loike.”
“Ay,” answered his wife, “so theer is; an' its natur' too. Coom along in, lad,” to Seth, “an ha' summat to eat: yo' look faintish.”
Black Creek found him a wonderfully quiet member of society, the lad Seth. ”

“ When you went away she couldna abide th' lonesomeness, an' so one day she said to her brother, 'Dave, let us go to th' new mine wheer Mester Ed'ard is;' an' him bein' allus ready fur a move, they started out together. But on th' way th' lad took sick and died sudden, an' Jinny wur left to hersen'. An' then she seed new trouble. She wur beset wi' danger as she'd niwer thowt on, an' before long she foun' out as women didna work o' this side o' the sea as they did o' ours. So at last she wur driv' upon a strange-loike plan. It sounds wild, happen, but it wasna so wild after aw. ”

“ Happen it's th' bigness, an' quiet, an' th' lonely look, an' happen it's summat wrong in mysen'. I've lived in th' cool an' smoke an/ crowd an' work so long as it troubles me in a manner to—to ha' to look so high.”
“Does it?” said Langley, a few faint lines showing themselves on his forehead. “That's a queer fancy. So high!” turning his glance upward to where the tallest pine swayed its dark plume against the clear blue. “Well, so it is. But you will get used to it in time,” shaking off a rather unpleasant sensation. ”

“ There's work enough, though it isn't such as you had at Deepton. What is your name?”
“Seth, mester—Seth Raynor,” shifting the stick and bundle in uneasy eagerness from one shoulder to another. “An' I'm used to hard work, mester. It wur na easy work we had at th' Deepton mine, an' I'm stronger than I look. It's th' faggedness as makes me trembly—an' hunger.”
“Hunger?”
“I ha' not tasted sin' th' neet afore last,” shamefacedly. “I hadna th' money to buy, an' it seemt loike I could howd out.”
“Hold out!” echoed Langley in some excitement. “That's a poor business, my lad. ”

“ I did not hope for such happiness as this.”
“Father wanted to see the mines,” answered Cathie, sweetly demure, “and I—I wanted to see Black Creek; your letters were so enthusiastic.”
“A day will suffice, I suppose?” her paternal parent was wandering on amiably. “A man should always investigate such matters for himself. ”

“ She wur nowt but a desolate, homely lass, as seemt to ha' no place i' th' world, an' yet wur tender and weak-hearted to th' core. She wur allus longin' fur summat as she wur na loike to get; an' she nivver did get it, fur her brother wasna one as cared fur owt but his own doin's. But theer were one among aw th' rest as nivver passed her by, an' he wur th' mester's son. He wur a bright, handsome chap, as won his way ivverywheer, an' had a koind word or a laugh fur aw. ”

“ Entering Janner's shanty the following morning, Seth found the family sitting around the breakfast-table in ominous silence. The meal stood untouched, and even Bess looked pale and anxious. All three glanced toward him questioningly as he approached, and when he sat down Janner spoke: “Hasna tha' heerd th' news?” he asked.
“Nay,” Seth answered, “I ha' heerd nowt.”
Bess interposed hurriedly: “Dunnot yo' fear him, feyther,” she said. “Happen it isna so bad, after aw. Four or live foak wur takken down ill last neet, Seth, an' th' young mester wur among 'em ”