Surly Tim A Lancashire Story | Page 5

time lookin' at him an' singin' bits o' sweet-soundin'
foolish woman-folks' songs. I thowt then 'at them old nursery songs
wur th' happiest music I ever heard, an' when 'Sanna sung 'em they

minded me o' hymn-tunes.
"Well, Mester, before th' spring wur out Wee Wat was toddlin' round
holdin' to his mother's gown, an' by th' middle o' th' next he was cooin'
like a dove, an' prattlin' words i' a voice like hers. His eyes wur big an'
brown an' straightforrad like hers, an' his mouth was like hers, an' his
curls wur the color o' a brown bee's back. Happen we set too much
store by him, or happen it wur on'y th' Teacher again teachin' us his
way, but hows'ever that wur, I came home one sunny mornin' fro' th'
factory, an' my dear lass met me at th' door, all white an' cold, but tryin'
hard to be brave an' help me to bear what she had to tell.
"'Tim,' said she, 'th' Lord ha' sent us a trouble; but we can bear it
together, conna we, dear lad?'
"That wur aw, but I knew what it meant, though th' poor little lamb had
been well enough when I kissed him last.
"I went in an' saw him lyin' theer on his pillows strugglin' an' gaspin' in
hard convulsions, an' I seed aw was over. An' in half an hour, just as th'
sun crept across th' room an' touched his curls th' pretty little chap
opens his eyes aw at once.
"'Daddy!' he crows out. 'Sithee Dad--! an' he lift' hissen up, catches at
th' floatin' sun shine, laughs at it, and fa's back--dead, Mester.
"I've allus thowt 'at th' Lord-a'-moighty knew what He wur doin' when
he gi' th' woman t' Adam i' th' Garden o' Eden. He knowed he wur nowt
but a poor chap as couldna do fur hissen; an' I suppose that's th' reason
he gi' th' woman th' strength to bear trouble when it comn. I'd ha' gi'en
clean in if it hadna been fur my lass when th' little chap deed. I never
tackledt owt i' aw my days 'at hurt me as heavy as losin' him did. I
couldna abear th' sight o' his cradle, an' if ever I comn across any o' his
bits o' playthings, I'd fa' to cryin' an' shakin' like a babby. I kept out o'
th' way o' th' neebors' children even. I wasna like Rosanna. I couldna
see quoite clear what th' Lord meant, an' I couldna help murmuring sad
and heavy. That's just loike us men, Mester; just as if th' dear wench as
had give him her life fur food day an' neet, hadna fur th' best reet o' th'

two to be weak an' heavy-hearted.
"But I getten welly over it at last, an' we was beginnin' to come round a
bit an' look forrard to th' toime we'd see him agen 'stead o' luokin' back
to th' toime we shut th' round bit of a face under th' coffin-lid. Th' day
comn when we could bear to talk about him an' moind things he'd said
an' tried to say i' his broken babby way. An' so we wur creepin' back
again to th' old happy quiet, an' we had been for welly six month, when
summat fresh come. I'll never forget it, Mester, th' neet it happened. I'd
kissed Rosanna at th' door an' left her standin' theer when I went up to
th' village to buy summat she wanted. It wur a bright moon light neet,
just such a neet as this, an' th' lass had followed me out to see th'
moonshine, it wur so bright an' clear; an' just before I starts she folds
both her hands on my shoulder an' says, soft an' thoughtful:--
"'Tim, I wonder if th' little chap sees us?'
"'I'd loike to know, dear lass,' I answers back. An' then she speaks
again:--
"'Tim, I wonder if he'd know he was ours if he could see, or if he'd ha'
forgot? He wur such a little fellow.'
"Them wur th' last peaceful words I ever heerd her speak. I went up to
th' village an' getten what she sent me fur, an' then I comn back. Th'
moon wur shinin' as bright as ever, an' th' flowers i' her slip o' a garden
wur aw sparklin' wi' dew. I seed 'em as I went up th' walk, an' I thowt
again of what she'd said bout th' little lad.
"She wasna outside, an' I couldna see a leet about th' house, but I heerd
voices, so I walked straight in--into th' entry an' into th' kitchen, an'
theer she wur, Mester--my poor wench, crouchin' down by th' table,
hidin' her face