prettier nor iver, an' by th' toime th' cowslips wor buddin' a wor runnin' aboot, an' laughin' loike a very sunbeam i' th' au'd cottage. But ma gran'ther tould 's as a wor allus so white 'n wan, while a lookit loike a will-o-th'-wyke flittin' aboot; an' o th' could da'ays a'd sit shakin' ower th' foire, an' 'd look nigh de'ad, but whan th' sun 'd coom oot, a'd da'ance an' sing i' th' loight, 'n stretch oot 's arms to 't 'sif a on'y lived i' th' warmness o' t. An' by 'n by th' cowslips brust ther buds, an' coom i' flower, an' th' maid wor growed so stra'ange an' beautiful 'at they wor nigh feared on her—an' ivery mornin' a'd kneel by th' cowslips 'n watter 'n tend 'em 'n da'ance to 'em i th' sunshine, while th' mother 'd stan' beggin' her to leave 'em, 'n cried 'at she'd have 'em pu'd oop by th' roots 'n throwed awe'ay. But th' lass 'd on'y look stra'ange at a, 'n sa'ay—soft 'n low loike:
"Ef thee are'nt tired o' ma, mother—niver pick wan o' them flowers; they'll fade o' ther sel's soon enuff—ay, soon enuff—thou knows!" An' tha mother 'd go'a back to th' cottage 'n greet ower th' wo'k; but a niver said nowt of her trooble to th' neebors—not till arter'ds. But wan da'ay a lad o' th' village stopped at th' ga'ate to chat wi 'em, an' by-'n-by, whiles a wor gossipin' a picked a cowslip 'n pla'ayed wi 't. Th' lass didn't see what a'd done; but as he said goodbye, a seed th' flower as 'd fa'allen to th' yarth at 's feet. "Did thee pull that cowslip?" a said—lookin' stra'ange 'n white wi' wan han' laid ower her he'art.
"Ay" said he—'n liftin' 't oop, a gi'n it to her smilin' loike, 'n thinkin' what 'n 'a pretty maid it wor.
She looked at th' flower an' at th' lad, an' ahl roon' aboot her; at th' green trees, an' th' sproutin' grass, an' th' yaller blossoms; an' oop at th' gowlden shinin' sun itsel'; an' ahl to wanst, shrinkin' 's if th' light a 'd loved so mooch wor brennin' her, a ran into th' hoose, wi' oot a spoken wo'd, on'y a so't o' cry, loike a dumb beast i' pain, an' th' cowslip catched close agin her bre'ast.
An' then—b'leeve it or not as 'eewull—a niver spo'ak agin, but la'ay on th' bed, starin' at th' flower in 's han' an' fadin'
