"He'll not go far, depend upon that.

The horse has not been caught.

Ralph is among the mountains yet, take my word for it, father." "It's bad weather to trapes the fells, Rotha.

The ground is all slush and sladderment." "So it is, so it is; and you're grown weak, father.

I'll go myself.
Liza Branthwaite will come here and fill my place." "No, no, I'll go; yes, that I will," said Sim.