It makes me mad to think on't.

I shall overrun these doings before long.

I've stood enough of 'em." Poor Lisbeth did not hear this threat for the first time, and if she had been wise she would have gone away quietly and said nothing for the next hour.

But one of the lessons a woman most rarely learns is never to talk to an angry or a drunken man.

Lisbeth sat down on the chopping bench and began to cry, and by the time she had cried enough to make her voice very piteous, she burst out into words.
"Nay, my lad, my lad, thee wouldstna go away an' break thy mother's heart, an' leave thy feyther to ruin.