You ca n't ask no more of a Mother . '' ` She saw them liddle green lights dance an ' cross till she was dizzy ; she heard them liddle feet patterin ' by the thousand ; she heard cruel Canterbury Bells ringing to Bulverhithe , an ' she heard the great Tide-wave ranging along the Wall . That was while the Pharisees was workin ' a Dream to wake her two sons asleep : an ' while she bit on her fingers she saw them two she 'd bore come out an ' pass her with never a word . She followed 'em , cryin ' pitiful , to the old boat on the Wall , an ' that they took an ' runned down to the sea . ` When they 'd stepped mast an ' sail the blind son speaks : `` Mother , we 're waitin ' your Leave an ' Good-will to take Them over . '' ' Tom Shoesmith threw back his head and half shut his eyes . ` Eh , me ! ' he said . ` She was a fine , valiant woman , the Widow Whitgift . She stood twistin ' the eends of her long hair over her fingers , an ' she shook like a poplar , makin ' up her mind . The Pharisees all about they hushed their children from cryin ' an ' they waited dumb-still . She was all their dependence . ` Thout her Leave an ' Good-will they could not pass ; for she was the Mother . So she shook like a aps-tree makin ' up her mind . ` Last she drives the word past her teeth , an ' `` Go ! '' she says . `` Go with my Leave an ' Goodwill . '' ` Then I saw -- then , they say , she had to brace back same as if she was wadin ' in tide-water ; for the Pharisees just about flowed past her -- down the beach to the boat , I dunnamany of 'em -- with their wives an ' childern an ' valooables , all escapin ' out of cruel Old England . Silver you could hear chinkin ' , an ' liddle bundles hove down dunt on the bottom-boards , an ' passels o ' liddle swords an ' shields raklin ' , an ' liddle fingers an ' toes scratchin ' on the boatside to board her when the two sons pushed her off . That boat she sunk lower an ' lower , but all the Widow could see in it was her boys movin ' hampered-like to get at the tackle .
Up sail they did , an ' away they went , deep as a Rye barge , away into the off-shore mists , an ' the Widow XXXXX she sat down an ' eased her grief till mornin ' light . ' '
Bulverhithe Pharisees Wall Whitgift dunt eends liddle movin passels valooables