What little did come to their ears came through Dolly Reid, when she returned from selling the farm produce of the week; and often, indeed, even then she found Sylvia too much absorbed in other cares or thoughts to listen to her gossip.

So no one had ever named that Simpson was supposed to be dying till Philip began on the subject one evening.

Sylvia's face suddenly flashed into glow and life.
'He's dying, is he?
t' earth is well rid on such a fellow!' 'Eh, Sylvie, that's a hard speech o' thine!' said Philip; 'it gives me but poor heart to ask a favour of thee!' 'If it's aught about Simpson,' replied she, and then she interrupted herself.

'But say on; it were ill-mannered in me for t' interrupt yo'.' 'Thou would be sorry to see him, I think, Sylvie.

He cannot get over the way, t' folk met him, and pelted him when he came back fra' York,--and he's weak and faint, and beside himself at times; and he'll lie a dreaming, and a-fancying they're all at him again, hooting, and yelling, and pelting him.' 'I'm glad on 't,' said Sylvia; 'it's t' best news I've heered for many a day,--he, to turn again' feyther, who gave him money fo t' get a lodging that night, when he'd no place to go to.