human
You may glaze 'pon me, an' stick your savage eyes out your head; but that doan't alter truth. 'T 'as awnly a bit ago in the fall as I told un what would awvertake un, he continued, turning to the women.
gpt
He left the cross what Mr. Grimbal found upsy-down in the airth; he stood up afore the company an' damned the glory of all Christian men. Ess fay, he done that fearful thing, an' if 't weern't enough to turn the Lard's hand from un, what was? Snug an' vitty he weer afore that, so far as anybody knawed; an' since--why, troubles have tumbled 'pon each other's tails like apple-dranes out of a nest.
human
You mean that gate-stone brought this upon us?
gpt
No, no, never, declared Damaris;
human
Will, do 'e hear Mr. Blee?
gpt
I hear un. 'T is tu late now, even if what he said was true, which it ban't.
human
Never tu late to do a gude deed, declared Billy;
gpt
Do 'e mean it might even make the differ'nee between life an' death to the bwoy?
human
I do. Just all that.
gpt
Will--for God's love, Will!
human
What do 'e say, mother?
gpt
It may be truth. Strange things fall out. Yet it never hurted my parents in the past.
human
For why? asked Billy.
gpt
Your blessed God 's got no common sense, then--an' that's all I've got to say 'bout it. What would you have me do?
human
Go! Dig--dig as you never digged afore! Dig the holy stone out the ground direckly minute! Now, now, Will, 'fore the life's out of his li'l flutterin' body. Lay bare the cross, an' drag un out for God in heaven to see! Doan't stand clackin' theer, when every moment's worth more'n gawld.
gpt
So like's not He'll forgive 'e if 'e do, argued Mr. Blee.
human
Allowed the Lard o' Hosts graws a bit short in His temper now an' again, as with them gormed Israelites, an' sich like, an' small blame to Him; but He's all for mercy at heart, 'cordin' to the opinion of these times, so you'd best to dig.
gpt
Why doan't he strike me down if I've angered Him--not this innocent cheel?
human
The sins of the fathers be visited--
gpt
Ban't the time to argue, Will. Do it, an' do it sharp, if't will add wan grain o' hope to the baaby's chance.
human
O Christ, why for do 'e hold back? Ban't anything worth tryin' for your awn son? I'd scratch the stone out wi' my raw, bleedin' finger-bones if I was a man. Do 'e want to send me mad? Do 'e want to make me hate the sight of 'e? Go--go for love of your mother, if not of me!
gpt
An' I'll help, said Billy,