'
'It was all chance, father, and my fault,' said Owen.
'It's always chance and your fault then. Where Gladys is, you're seure
to be pretty near. She's a good sort of young 'ooman enough, but you
have no call to be for ever hunting after her.'
'I don't see why I shouldn't if I like. It doesn't hurt anybody, and is
only kind to her.'
'But I don't cheuse her to be thinking you're going to make love to her,
and by-and-by, perhaps, expecting to--there's no knowing what young
'oomen may expect.'
'She isn't one to expect very much, and I am sure she doesn't take any
liberties with any one, or go beyond her place.'
'Treue for you there; but that's no fault of yours. You don't take
notice of any other female that I see, and seure you eused to make love
to them all in turns.'
'I don't see any girl half as good as Gladys, or worthy to light a
candle to her, that's why I have given them all up.'
'Name o' goodness what for? If you are going to make a fool of yourself
about her, I'll soon send her away, and stop that anyhow.'
'You may save yourself the trouble, father, for I am going away myself.
I can't be a land-lubber any longer, and I won't, so I shall look out
for a ship, pretty soon.'
'All because that girl came here to bother us.
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