"Them’s the best words," he continued "as ai ’ve ’eered this many a dai; for ai’ll be danged if ever a loi could coom from unner such eyes as yourn." And thereupon he took my puny weak hand in his rough iron palm, like an almond in the nut-crackers, and examined it with pitying wonder. "Wull, wull! some hands be made for mulking coos, and some be made of the crame itself. Now there couldn’t be such a purty thing as this ere, unless it wor to snow war’rm. But her bain’t no kaind of gude for rarstling? and ai be aveared thee’ll have to rarstle a rare bout wi the world, my dearie: one down, tother coom on, that be the wai of ’un." "Oh, I am not afraid, Mr. Huxtable." He took some time to meditate upon this, and shook his head when he had finished. "Noo, thee bain’t aveard yet I’ll warr’ne. Gude art alaive, if e bain’t a spurrity maid. But if ere a chap zays the black word on e--and thiccy’s the taime when a maid can’t help herzell, then ony you karl Jan Uxtable that’s arl my dear, and if so be it’s in the dead hoor of the naight, and thee beest to tother zaide of Hexymoor, ai’ll be by the zaide of thee zooner nor ai could thraw a vorehip." Before I could thank him for his honest championship my mother entered the room, and all his bashfulness (lost for the moment in the pride of strength) came over him again like an extinguisher. Although he did not tremble--his nerves were too firm for that--he stood fumbling with his hat, and reddening, and looking vaguely about, at a loss where to put his eyes or anything else. My mother, quite worn out with her morning’s walk, surprised at her uncouth visitor, and frightened perhaps at his bulk, sank on our new-fangled sofa, in a stupor of weakness. Then it was strange and fine to see the strong man’s sense of her feeble state. All his embarrassment vanished at once; he saw there was something to do; and a look of deep interest quickened his great blue eyes. Poising his heavy frame with the lightness of a bird, he stepped to her side as if the floor had been holy, and, scarcely touching her, contrived to arrange the rude cushions, and to lay her delicate head in an easy position, as a nurse composes a child. All the while, his looks and manner expressed so much feeling and gentleness, that he must have known what it was to lose a daughter or mother. "Poor dear leddy," he whispered to me, "her be used to zummut more plum nor thiccy, I reckon. Her zimth crule weist and low laike. Hath her been long in that there wai?" "Yes, she has long been weak and poorly; but I fear that her health has been growing worse for the last few months." I couldn’t help crying a little; and I couldn’t help his seeing it.