CHAPTER XII.
GRANNY DIXON.
The next time Janey brought her fathers dinner to the Yard she sought out Murdoch in a dejected mood. She found him reading over his lunch in the sunshine, and she sat down opposite to him, folding her arms on her lap.
"We're i' trouble again at our house," she said. "We're allus i' trouble. If it is na one thing, it's another."
Murdoch shut his book and leaned back upon his pile of lumber to listen. He always listened.
"What is it this time?"
"This toime?" querulously. "This is th' worst o' th' lot. Granny Dixon's come back."
"Granny Dixon?"
Janey shook her head.
"Tha knows nowt about her," she said. "I nivver towd thee nowt. She's my feyther's grandmother an' she's ower ninety years owd, an' she's getten money. If it wur na fur that no one ud stond her, but"—with a sigh—"foak conna turn away brass,"
Having relieved herself of this sentiment she plunged into the subject with fresh asperity.
"Theer's no knowin' how to tak' her," she said. "Yo' mun shout at th' top o' yore voice to mak' her hear. An'
