I'm right glad they're going off this morning, that's the truth." This declaration of Mr.Garth's veracity was not conducive to amiability.
He looked as black as his sanguine complexion would allow.
Mrs.Garth glanced up at him.

"Why, laddie, what ails thee?
Thou'rt as crook't as a tiphorn this morning," she said, in a tone that was meant to coax her son out of a cantankerous temper.
"I'm like to be," grumbled Mr.Garth.
"Why, laddie ?" asked his mother, purring, now in other fashion.
"Why ?" said Joe,--"why ?--because I can never sleep at night now, no, nor work in the day neither--that's _why_." "Hush!" said Mrs.Garth, turning a quick eye towards the aforementioned door.

Then quietly resuming her attentions to the gorse, she added, in another tone, "That's nowther nowt nor summat, lad." "It'll take a thicker skin nor mine, mother, to hold out much longer," said Joe huskily, but struggling to speak beneath his breath.
"Yer skin's as thin as a cat-lug," said Mrs.Garth in a bitter whisper.
"I've told you I cannot hold out much longer," said Joe, "and I cannot." "Hod thy tongue, then," growled Mrs.Garth over the kettle.
There was a minute's silence between them.
The blacksmith donned his upper garments.

His mother listened for the simmer and bubble of the water on the fire.
"How far did ye bargain to tak them ?" "To Gaskarth--the little lame fellow will make for the Carlisle coach once they're there ?" "When was t'horse and car to be ready ?" "Nine o'clock forenoon." "Then it's full time they were gitten roused." Mrs.Garth rose from the stool, hobbled to the door which had been previously indicated by sundry nods and jerks, and gave it two or three sharp raps.
A voice from within answered sleepily, "Right--right as a trivet, old lady," and yawned.
Mrs.Garth put her head close to the door-jamb.
"Ye'd best be putten the better leg afore, gentlemen," she said with becoming amiability; "yer breakfast is nigh about ready, gentlemen." "The better leg, David, eh?
Ha! ha! ha!" came from another muffled voice within.
Mrs.Garth turned about, oblivious of her own conceit.

In a voice and manner that had undergone a complete and sudden change, she whispered to Joe,-- "Thou'rt a great bledderen fool." The blacksmith had been wrapped in his thoughts.