‘Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy?’ I observed.

‘Ay - nay,’ he drawled.

‘Who, then?’

‘Heathcliff.’

‘I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff.’

‘Ay!’ he answered again.

Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather the sentences - ‘I known’t: he pays dad back what he gies to me - he curses daddy for cursing me. He says I mun do as I will.’

‘And the curate does not teach you to read and write, then?’ I pursued.

‘No, I was told the curate should have his - teeth dashed down his - throat, if he stepped over the threshold - Heathcliff had promised that!’