"Well, when I saw Abe, I cried 'Murder!' with all my might, and as good luck would have it old Deacon Hoyle was just coming up th' fowd to see if we'd any skim milk to spare for his pig, an' between us we lifted him up off th' ground and carried him into th' house and laid him on this very settle, him moaning all th' time fit to break your heart, and his face as white as th' snow itself, and you know what a colour he has when he's himself. My father came downstairs half dressed and all of a tremble, and then we saw that the bandage round Abe's arm was soaked with blood. We hadn't a drop o' brandy in the house, you know how set my father is against anything stronger than home-brewed, but all of a sudden I bethought me there was half a bottle of port wine left over from th' last love-feast. I poured half a mugful down Abe's throat, and he just gasped and opened his eyes, then groaned worse than ever, and seemed just to swoon away. "'Enoch Hoyle,' I cried, 'if ever you made haste in your life, which I doubt, stir those long legs of yours now, and pack yourself down to Slowit to Dr. Dean's. Yo'll catch him before he starts his rounds, and tell him our Abe's bleeding himself to death.' Well, that's all, I think. We got him to bed after th' doctor had come and seen to his arm. He says--th' doctor I mean--that Abe's been stabbed, and there's foul play somew'ere." "And who do you think did it, Ruth?" "Aye, who? Father thinks it may be one of those Bradburys over at Bill's o' Jack's. But I've reasons of my own for thinking different." "And aw'll be bun' you're reet, Ruth," asseverated Jim, with great conviction. "I'd back thee agen yo'r own feyther, an' that's a big word to say, an' him such a clever owd felly." "You mustn't say 'reet,' Jim--how often have I to tell you," said Ruth, severely. "You must say 'right.' I do wish you'd take more pains with your speech, if we're ever to be more than just good friends, and that we'll always be, won't we?" "Friends be dalled," quoth Jim. "Us 'll be one flesh an' one blood, an' afore so long either, or I'll know the reason why. But aw dunnot know ha' it is, aw can talk reet--aw mean reight--aw mean right--enough when aw ta' my time to it, but as sooin as aw warm to th' collar, so to speik--theer aw go again, aw mean speak--out th' owd Yorkshire comes as brode--aw mean broad--as they mak' it."