Toward morning, poor little wench! it fell asleep, fairly tired out wi' crying, but even in its sleep it gave such pitiful sobs, quivering up fra' the very bottom of its little heart, that once or twice I almost wished it lay on its mother's breast, at peace for ever. Jennings fell asleep too; but I began for to reckon up our money. It were little enough we had left, our dinner the day afore had ta'en so much. I didn't know what our reckoning would be for that night lodging, and supper, and breakfast. Doing a sum always sent me asleep ever sin' I were a lad; so I fell sound in a short time, and were only wakened by chambermaid tapping at th' door, to say she'd dress the babby afore her missis were up if we liked. But bless yo, we'd never thought o' undressing it th' night afore, and now it were sleeping so sound, and we were so glad o' the peace and quietness, that we thought it were no good to waken it up to screech again. "Well! (there's Mary asleep for a good listener!) I suppose you're getting weary of my tale, so I'll not be long over ending it. Th' reckoning left us very bare, and we thought we'd best walk home, for it were on]y sixty mile, they telled us, and not stop again for nought, save victuals. So we left Brummagem (which is as black a place as Manchester, without looking so like home), and walked a' that day, carrying babby turn and turn about.
It were well fed by chamber-maid afore we left, and th' day were fine, and folk began to have some knowledge o' th' proper way o' speaking, and we were more cheery at thoughts o' home (though mine, God knows, were lonesome enough). We stopped none for dinner, but at baggin-time we getten a good meal at a public-house, an' fed th' babby as well as we could, but that were but poorly. We got a crust too for it to suck--chambermaid put us up to that. That night, whether we were tired or whatten, I don't know, but it were dree work, and th' poor little wench had slept out her sleep, and began th' cry as wore my heart out again. Says Jennings, says he, "'We should na ha' set out so like gentlefolk a top o' the coach yesterday.' "'Nay, lad! We should ha' had more to walk if we had na ridden, and I'm sure both you and I'se weary o' tramping.' "So he were quiet a bit. But he were one o' them as were sure to find out somewhat had been done amiss when there were no going back to undo it.
So presently be coughs, as if he were going to speak, and I says to myself, 'At it again, my lad.' Says he, "'I ax pardon, neighbour, but it strikes me it would ha' been better for my son if he had never begun to keep company wi' your daughter.' "Well! that put me up, and my heart got very full, and but that I were carrying her babby, I think I should ha' struck him. At last I could hold in no longer, and says I, "'Better say at once it would ha' been better for God never to ha' made th' world, for then we'd never ha' been in it, to have had th' heavy hearts we have now.' "Well! he said that were rank blasphemy; but J thought his way of casting up again th' events God had pleased to send, were worse blasphemy. Howe'er, I said nought more angry, for th' little babby's sake, as were th" child o' his dead son, as well as o' my dead daughter. "Th' longest lane will have a turning, and that night came to an end at last; and we were footsore and tired enough, and to my mind the babby were getting weaker and weaker, and it wrung my heart to hear its little wail!
