"Now, my own, own love," she whispered, "you are mine, and on'y mine;
for she has forgot 'ee at last, although for her you died. But
I--whenever I get up I'll think of 'ee, and whenever I lie down I'll
think of 'ee. Whenever I plant the young larches I'll think that none
can plant as you planted; and whenever I split a gad, and whenever I
turn the cider-wring, I'll say none could do it like you. If ever I
forget your name, let me forget home and Heaven!--But no, no, my love,
I never can forget 'ee; for you was a GOOD man, and did good things!"