Surly Tim A Lancashire Story | Page 3

long he broke the silence himself, as I
had thought he would.
"It wur welly about six year ago I comn here," he said, "more or less,
welly about six year. I wur a quiet chap then, Mester, an' had na many
friends, but I had more than I ha' now. Happen I wur better nater'd, but
just as loike I wur loigh-ter-hearted--but that's nowt to do wi' it.
"I had na been here more than a week when theer comes a young
woman to moind a loom i' th' next room to me, an' this young woman
bein' pretty an' modest takes my fancy. She wur na loike th' rest o' the
wenches--loud talkin' an' slattern i' her ways; she wur just quiet loike
and nowt else. First time I seed her I says to mysen, 'Theer's a lass 'at's
seed trouble;' an' somehow every toime I seed her afterward I says to
mysen, 'Theer's a lass 'at's seed trouble.' It wur i' her eye--she had a soft
loike brown eye, Mester--an' it wur i' her voice--her voice wur soft
loike, too--I sometimes thowt it wur plain to be seed even i' her dress. If
she'd been born a lady she'd ha' been one o' th' foine soart, an' as she'd
been born a factory-lass she wur one o' th' foine soart still. So I took to
watchin' her an' tryin' to mak' friends wi her, but I never had much luck
wi' her till one neet I was goin' home through th' snow, and I seed her
afore tighten' th' drift wi' nowt but a thin shawl over her head; so I goes
up behind her an' I says to her, steady and respecful, so as she wouldna
be feart, I says:--
"'Lass, let me see thee home. It's bad weather fur thee to be out in by
thysen. Tak' my coat an' wrop thee up in it, an' tak' hold o' my arm an'
let me help thee along.'
"She looks up right straightforrad i' my face wi' her brown eyes, an' I
tell yo' Mester, I wur glad I wur a honest man 'stead o' a rascal, fur
them quiet eyes 'ud ha' fun me out afore I'd ha' done sayin' my say if I'd
meant harm.
"'Thank yo' kindly Mester Hibblethwaite,' she says, 'but dunnot tak' off

tha' coat fur me; I'm doin' pretty nicely. It is Mester Hibblethwaite,
beant it?'
"'Aye, lass,' I answers, 'it's him. Mought I ax yo're name.'
"'Aye, to be sure,' said she. 'My name's Rosanna--'Sanna Brent th' folk
at th' mill alius ca's me. I work at th' loom i' th' next room to thine. I've
seed thee often an' often.'
"So we walks home to her lodgins, an' on the way we talks together
friendly an' quiet loike, an th' more we talks th' more I sees she's had
trouble an' by an' by--bein' on'y common workin' folk, we're
straightforrad to each other in our plain way--it comes out what her
trouble has been.
"'Yo' p'raps wouldn't think I've been a married woman, Mester,' she
says; 'but I ha', an' I wedded an' rued. I married a sojer when I wur a
giddy young wench, four years ago, an' it wur th' worst thing as ever I
did i' aw my days. He wur one o' yo're handsome, fastish chaps, an' he
tired o' me as men o' his stripe alius do tire o' poor lasses, an' then he
ill-treated me. He went to th' Crimea after we'n been wed a year, an' left
me to shift fur mysen. An' I heard six month after he wur dead. He'd
never writ back to me nor sent me no help, but I couldna think he wur
dead till th' letter comn. He wur killed th' first month he wur out fightin'
th' Rooshians. Poor fellow! Poor Phil! Th' Lord ha' mercy on him!'
"That wur how I found out about her trouble, an' somehow it seemed to
draw me to her, an' mak' me feel kindly to'ards her; 'twur so pitiful to
hear her talk about th' rascal, so sorrowful an' gentle, an' not gi' him a
real hard word for a' he'd done. But that's alius th' way wi' women
folk--th' more yo' harry's them, th' more they'll pity yo' an' pray for yo'.
Why she wurna more than twenty-two then, an' she must ha' been nowt
but a slip o' a lass when they wur wed.
"Hows'ever, Rosanna Brent an' me got to be good friends, an' we
walked home together o' nights, an talked about our bits o' wage, an'
our bits o' debt, an' th' way that wench 'ud keep me up i' spirits when I
wur a bit down-hearted about owt, wur just a wonder.