"Is there owt ails th' victuals?" he asked, thrusting the tray under Heathcliff's nose.
"What should ail them?" he said.
"Wah!" answered Joseph, "yon dainty chap says he cannut ate 'em. Bud Aw guess it's raight! His mother wer just soa—we wer a'most too mucky tuh sow t' corn fur makking her breead."
"Don't mention his mother to me," said the master, angrily. "Get him something that he can eat, that's all. What is his usual food, Nelly?"
I suggested boiled milk or tea; and the housekeeper received instructions to prepare some.
Come, I reflected, his father's selfishness may contribute to his comfort. He perceives his delicate constitution, and the necessity of treating him tolerably. I'll console Mr. Edgar by acquainting him with the turn Heathcliff's humour has taken.
Having no excuse for lingering longer, I
