'You've got'im back 'gain, ah see,' he said to his daughter-in-law. His wife explained how I had found Joey.
'Ah,' went on the grey man. 'It wor our Alfred scared him off, back your life. He must'a flyed ower t'valley. Tha ma' thank thy stars as 'e wor fun, Maggie. 'E'd a bin froze.
They a bit nesh, you know,' he concluded to me.
'They are,' I answered. 'This isn't their country.'
'No, it isna,' replied Mr. Goyte. He spoke very slowly and deliberately, quietly, as if the soft pedal were always down in his voice. He looked at his daughter-in-law as she crouched, flushed and dark, before the peacock, which would lay its long blue neck for a moment along her lap. In spite of his grey moustache and thin grey hair, the elderly man had a face young and almost delicate, like a young man's. His blue eyes twinkled with some inscrutable source of pleasure, his skin was fine and tender, his nose delicately arched. His grey hair being slightly ruffled, he had a debonair look, as of a youth who is in love.
'We mun tell 'im it's come,' he said slowly, and turning he called: 'Alfred--Alfred! Wheer's ter gotten to?'
Then he turned again to the group.
'Get up then, Maggie, lass, get up wi' thee. Tha ma'es too much o' th'bod.'
A young man approached, wearing rough khaki and kneebreeches. He was Danish looking, broad at the loins.
'I's come back then,' said the father to the son; 'leastwise, he's bin browt back, flyed ower the Griff Low.'
The son looked at me. He had a devil-may-care bearing, his cap on one side, his hands stuck in the front pockets of his breeches. But he said nothing.
'Shall you come in a minute, Master,' said the elderly woman, to me.
'Ay, come in an' ha'e a cup o' tea or summat. You'll do wi' summat, carrin' that bod. Come on, Maggie wench, let's go in.'
So we went indoors, into the rather stuffy, overcrowded living-room, that was too cosy, and too warm. The son followed last, standing in the doorway. The father talked to me. Maggie put out the tea-cups. The mother went into the dairy again.
'Tha'lt rouse thysen up a bit again, now, Maggie,' the father-in-law said--and then to me: ''ers not bin very bright sin' Alfred came whoam, an' the bod flyed awee. 'E come whoam a Wednesday night, Alfred did. But ay, you knowed, didna yer. Ay, 'e comed 'a Wednesday--an' I reckon there wor a bit of a to-do between 'em, worn't there, Maggie?'
He twinkled maliciously to his daughter-in-law, who was flushed, brilliant and handsome. 'Oh, be quiet, father. You're wound up, by the sound of you,' she said to him, as if crossly. But she could never be cross with him.
''Ers got 'er colour back this mornin',' continued the father-in-law slowly. 'It's bin heavy weather wi' 'er this last two days. Ay--'er's bin northeast sin 'er seed you a Wednesday.'
'Father, do stop talking. You'd wear the leg off an iron pot. I can't think where you've found your tongue, all of a sudden,' said Maggie, with caressive sharpness.
'Ah've found it wheer I lost it. Aren't goin' ter come in an' sit thee down, Alfred?'
But Alfred turned and disappeared.
''E's got th' monkey on 'is back ower this letter job,' said the father secretly to me. 'Mother, 'er knows nowt about it. Lot o' tom-foolery, isn't it?
Ay! What's good o' makkin' a peck o' trouble over what's far enough off, an' ned niver come no nigher. No--not a smite o' use. That's what I tell 'er. 'Er should ta'e no notice on't. Ty, what can y' expect.'
The mother came in again, and the talk became general. Maggie flashed her eyes at me from time to time, complacent and satisfied, moving among the men. I paid her little compliments, which she did not seem to hear. She attended to me with a kind of sinister, witch-like graciousness, her dark head ducked between her shoulders, at once humble and powerful. She was happy as a child attending to her father-in-law and to me. But there was something ominous between her eyebrows, as if a dark moth were settled there--and something ominous in her bent, hulking bearing.
She sat on a low stool by the fire, near her father-in-law. Her head was dropped, she seemed in a state of abstraction. From time to time she would suddenly recover, and look up at us, laughing and chatting. Then she would forget again. Yet in her hulked black forgetting she seemed very near to us.
Originally Posted by Janine
You are all a riot. I went away for a half a day and come back to all these post; one in which my name was included with the particular mention of part of the male anatomy - gee, thanks, Virgil! It's a wonder that was not censored since the four letter word meaning a male bird is always censored; also the word which we use as a swear which is actually the technical name of a female dog. This censor program is very odd to me sometimes.
Actually this isn't the first story I've mentioned that word in respect to a Lawrence story.
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I think, personally, the laugh was a spontaneous one, and can't truly be explained logically, but we can discuss that when we get to it.
"It's so mysterious, the land of tears." 
I really "like" the Red Baron as a historic figure, being quite interested in the development of plains and flying during WWI. And of course because of 
. 
. Though I still do not approve of him telling lies - but hey, that is just my opinion. 
But I can't read that green type at all, jinjang. Are you two trying to make me go blind? I can barely read the blue. I have bad eyes at my age! 
