“That can nivver be, Jack.  Thear’s noa mooar happiness for me.”

There was no response.  The eyelids drooped,—­the jaw fell.  The nurse who had stood at a distance, drew near and spread a white napkin over his face.

“He’s gone.  ’Tis better so.”

An inquest was held.  “Accidental death” was the verdict.

The ladder could not be found.  Neither Dick nor Susy ever entered those works again.  They were both sadly altered.  After Jack’s funeral, months passed before they met again.  What took place when they did meet can only be surmised.  Some short time afterwards their was a quiet wedding, and they moved to another town.  But Dick never recovered his old spirits, and it was not long before she was a second time a widow.

When Dick was in his coffin and the men stood by to close it for the last time, she placed in it a parcel.  It contained two pieces of a broken ladder, showing where it had been sawn almost in two.  This is all the story, Susy is living yet.  The secret rests with her and me.

“If aw wor a Woman.”

“If aw wor a woman awd——­”

“If tha wor a woman tha’d be a disgrace to ivverybody belangin to thi, an thar’t little else nah,” sed Mally.

“Aw wor gooin to remark, ’at if aw wor a woman——­”

“Eah! but tha arn’t a woman, an if tha wor tha’d wish thisen a man agean, varry sharply.  But if aw wor a man awd set a different example to what tha does.  Aw wonder sometimes what thar’t thinkin on, if tha ivver does think, which awm inclined to daat, unless its thinkin ha tha can contrive to be awkard an aggravatin.”

“Well, but as aw wor gooin to say, If aw wor a——­”

“Aw dooant want to hear owt tha has to say abaat it.  A fine woman tha’d mak!  But aw wish tha wor foorced to swap places wi me for a wick.  Aw should like to see ha tha’d fancy gettin up befoor dayleet ov a Mondy mornin an start o’ sich a weshin o’ clooas as aw have to face ivvery wick; to say nowt abaat starchin an manglin an ironin.  An then to start an brew a barrel o’ ale for other fowk to sup; an then to bake for sich a family as we’ve getten,—­nivver to mention makkin th’ beds an cleanin th’ hearthstun,—­an’ th’ meals to get ready, an then to cleean th’ haase throo top to bottom ivvery wick,—­an darn th’ stockins an put a claat on here an a patch on thear, an fifty moor things beside,—­an nivver get a word o’ thanks for it.  Aw just wish tha wor a woman for an odd wick.  Aw do, truly.”

“As aw sed befoor, If aw wor a——­”

“Awm capt tha hasn’t moor sense nor to keep tawkin sich foolishness.  Tha knows tha arn’t a woman an tha nivver can be,—­moor’s pity.  But if aw wor a man awd awther tawk sense or keep mi maath shut.  Aw think sometimes ’at summat ’ll happen to thi as a judgment for bein sich an ungrateful tyke as tha art.  Tha gets up in a mornin an finds thi braikfast ready, an if ther’s owt i’th haase at’s nice an