"George!"
"Zon!" repeated the voice; "we have no zon. If it be thee, go to
Coomberland, lad. We have noughts to do with thee. Thy old grandfather,
Zquire Morris, be now dead, and he ha'n't paid us so well for what we
have done as to have oughts to zay to thee again; zo good night, lad."
"Father! mother!" cried George, striking more passionately on the
window, "what do you mean?"
"Whoy, ha'n't I told thee?" answered the voice that had spoken to him
before. "Thou art no zon of ours. Thou moost go to Coomberland, man, to
Zquire Morris--to his zeketors,[*] I mean, for he is dead. They may tell
thee who thou art; I can't. We ha'n't been paid for what we have done
for thee already. However, thou may'st coom in for t'night;" and as the
old man who had professed to be his father spoke, he arose and opened
the door.
[note *: Executors.]
George entered the house, trembling with agitation.
"Father," he said--"for thou hast taught me to call thee father; and if
thou art not, tell me who I am."
"Ha'n't I told thee, lad?" answered the old man. "Go to Coomberland; I
know noughts about thee."
"To Cumberland!" exclaimed George; and he thought of the young officer
whom he had twice met, who belonged to that county, and whose features
were the picture of his own.
Pages:
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305