human
No good, he said bitterly, as he wiped his face.
gpt
Fire joost spits at me when I throw in the watter. It must bon down, squire, eh?
human
Yes, my man, nothing could save the place now.
gpt
And all my same [lard] in a jar--ten pounds good,
human
Ay, moother, and my Sunday clothes,
gpt
And my best frock.
human
Ay, and my tools, and a bit o' mooney I'd saved, and all my stoof. Eh, but I'm about ruined, moother, and just when I was going to get on and do the bit o' work for the dreern folk.