fine way o' shortenin' the time, to make it waste the good candle. But which on you's for ha'ing supper? Ye mun ayther be clemmed or full, I should think, seein' what time o' night it is."
"I'm hungry, mother," said Seth, seating himself at the little table, which had been spread ever since it was light.
"I've had my supper," said Adam. "Here, Gyp," he added, taking some cold potato from the table, and rubbing the rough grey head that looked up towards him.
"Thee needstna be gi'in' th' dog," said Lisbeth: "I'n fed him well a'ready. I'm not like to forget him, I reckon, when he's all o' thee I can get sight on."
"Come, then. Gyp," said Adam, "we'll go to bed. Good-night, mother; I'm very tired."
"What ails him, dost know?" Lisbeth said to Seth, when Adam was gone up-stairs. "He's like as if he was struck for death this day or two—he's so cast down. I found him i' the shop this forenoon, arter thee wast gone, a-sittin' an' doin' nothing—not so much as a booke afore him."
"He's a deal o' work upon him just now, mother," said Seth, "and I think he's a bit troubled in his
