Whilst a fussy physician, with looks most profound,
Wiped his aristocratical nose.
"It is, I declare, most uncommonly fair,
And its voice, oh! how sweet when it cries;
It really would seem like the child of a dream,
Or an angel just dropt from the skies."
Now, it seems very strange, &c.
Now, poor Johnny Lord and his mother were laid,
Both fainting and cold on the straw;
No doctors would come there unless they were paid,
Or compelled to be there by the law.
No comforting word heard poor Mistress Lord,
As o'er her babe bending she sat,
And each one who saw it cried with one accord,
"What a little detestable brat."
Now, it seems very strange, &c.
The two babes became men as the years rolled away.
And Lord John sported carriage and pair,
Whilst poor Johnny Lord working hard for poor pay,
Was content with what fell to his share.
Lord John went to races, to balls and to routs,
And squandered his wealth with the gay,
Till at last came the reaper, and sought them both out,
And took Lord John and John Lord away.
Now, it seems very strange, &c.
Very soon a grand monument stood o'er Lord John,
To show where the great man was laid,
But over John Lord was no mark and no stone,
It was left as when left by the spade.
But the time yet shall come when John Lord and Lord John
Shall meet in the realms far away,
When the riches and titles of earth are all gone,
Then which will be greatest, friends, say?
Then, though it seems strange, yet it's true what you've heard,
And a lesson throughout it is cast,
Which should comfort the poor working men like John Lord,
For we all shall be equal at last.
As sooin as he'd finished quaverin on th' last noat but one, ther wor sich a knockin o' glasses an' thump in o' fists, wol th' lonlady coom in agean, an' th' cheerman felt it his duty to order "as befoor," which order th' lonlady worn't long i' executin. "Gooid lad! Cocky!" sed Ike, "if aw'd a voice like thee aw'd travel! Tawk abaat Sims Reeves! He niver sang a song like that sin he wor creddled! Nah Maister Cheerman, keep up th' harmony, we're mendin on it aw'm sure. 'Gow, aw'll have another pipe o' bacca o' th' heead on it' nay, raylee, aw niver did hear sich a song," savin which he sat daan an' hid his astonishment behund a claad o' reek.
"Well," sed th' cheerman, "as Ike seems soa anxious, aw think he'd better try an' let's see what he con do." "Hear, hear!" on all sides, an' two or three pulled him up whether he wod or net, an' after a gooid deal o' sidelin abaat, he axed if he mud have his cap on, for he could niver sing withaat cap. "That's to keep th' mewsic throo flyin aght o'th' top ov his heead," sed one. "Order!" sed th' cheerman, "if Ike wants his cap on let him have it, may be he'll loise th' air withaat it."
Ike luk'd very solid for a minit, an' then he struck a lively tune in a voice abaat as musical as a saw sharpener.
Let us have a jolly spree,
An' wi' joy an' harmonie,
Let the merry moments flee,
For mi love's come back.
O, the days did slowly pass,
When aw'd lost mi little lass,
But nah we'll have a glass,
For mi love's come back.
O, shoo left me in a hig,
An' shoo didn't care a fig,
But nah aw'll donce a jig,
For mi love's come back.
An' aw know though far away,
'At her heart neer went astray,
An' awst iver bless the day,
For mi love's come back.
When shoo ax'd me yesterneet
What made mi heart so leet,
Aw says, "why can't ta see it's
'Coss mi love's come back."
Then aw gave her just a kiss,
An' shoo tuk it noan amiss
An' aw'm feear'd aw'st brust wi' bliss,
For mi love's come back.
Nah aw'm gooin to buy a ring,
An' a creddle an' a swing,
Ther's noa tellin what may spring,
For mi' love's come back.
O, aw niver thowt befoor
'At sich joy could be i' stoor,
But nah aw'l grieve noa moor,
For mi love's come back.
As mud ha been expected, they applauded Ike famously, but th' cheerman wor hard asleep agean, an' it tuk a gooid shakkin to wakken him, an' then he didn't seem to be altogether thear, an' as sooin as they left him aloan he dropt on agean.
"Aw think th' cheerman's ommost sewed up," sed Ike. "Net he! he's noan sewed up," sed Mosslump, "it's that song o' thine 'at's sent him to sleep! who the shames does ta think could keep wakken for sich a song as that? aw knew tha'd do it as sooin as aw heeard thi begin." "Come, aw'll sing thee for a quairt any day," sed Ike, "tha fancies coss tha'd once a uncle 'at could sing a bit, 'at ther's some mewsic born i' thee; but if aw'd a public haase aw wodn't let thee sing in it for a paand, for aw'll bet tha'd turn all th' ale saar." "Tha am't worth tawkin to, Ike, an' as for thee havin a voice, Why! tha arn't fit to hawk cockles an' mussels." "Well, an if aw did hawk 'em aw'd tak gooid care aw didn't sell thee ony unless aw gate th' brass befoorhand, soa tha can crack that nut." "Does ta mean to say 'at aw dooant pay mi way? aw've moor brass commin in ivery day nor tha can addle in a wick." Aw saw it luk'd likely for a row brewin, soa aw sed, "nah chaps, we've had a verry nice evening soa far, an' aw shouldn't like ony unpleasantness, for yo see th' cheerman's had a drop too much, an' aw think we owt to try to get him hooam if ony body knows wheear he lives." "Eea!" sed one chap 'at had been varry quite all th' neet, "aw dooant think he'll pay for owt ony moor, soa we mud as weel get shut on him." "Ther's Frank standin' at th' corner," sed another "aw dar say he'll tak him." "Who's Frank, aw asked." "O, it's a donkey 'at they call Frank," sed Ike, "th' chap 'at bowt him had him kursened Frank i' honor o' Frank Crossley bein made a member o' parliment." "Varry weel," aw sed, "then let's get him onto it." One or two came to give a lift, an' wi' a bit o' trouble we gate him aghtside. Th' donkey wor thear, but as ther wor a gurt milk can o' each side on it, aw couldn't see exactly ha to put this chap on. "O," sed Ike, "he'll ride nicely between' em," soa we hoisted him up, an' gave th' chap 'at belang'd donkey a shilling to see him safe hooam. Off they went at a jog trot, an' aw fancy if he'd niver known owt abaat th' can can befoor, 'at he'd have a varry lively noation o' what it meant befoor he'd gooan two mile daan th' hill. When we'd getten him away, some o'th chaps went back into th' haase, but aw thowt my wisest plan wor to steer straight for hooam, which aw did, an' although aw believe my old woman had prepared a dish o' tongue for mi supper, as aw went straight to bed an' fell asleep, aw'm net exactly sure whether aw gate it or net. When aw wakken'd next mornin, aw began thinking abaat th' neet befoor, an' aw coom to th' conclusion, 'at "Widdop's Rest" might be all varry weel once in a way, but if a chap had weary booans, he'd be able to rest a deal better in a comfortable bed at hooam".
Some time ago I was accidentally thrown into the im company of a number of workmen, who were just wondering how to pass the remainder of the dinner hour agreeably; and, as they were all indulging in the favourite after dinner pipe, with one exception, it was proposed that this one, whom they called Amos, should tell them one of his stories. Amos, nothing loth, and, evidently accustomed to occupy the position of a story teller, without any apology commenced:—
"Nah, aw dooan't think for a minit, 'at yo all knew this tinklin' Tommy, 'at aw'm gooin to tell yo abaght. Nowt o'th' soort! Its net to be expected! But aw dar say yo've all known a tinklin chap o' some sooart—one o' them 'ats allus boddin an' doin jobs they niver sarved ther time to—a sooart o' jack-o'-all-trades, one 'at con turn his hand to owt ommost. Nah, aw like a chap o' that sooart, if he doesn't carry things too far: but when he begins to say 'at he con build a haase as weel as a mason, an' mak a kist o' drawers as weel as a joiner, or praich a sarmon as weel as th' parson—or playa bazzoon, or spetch a pair o' clogs better nor ony man breathin—then, aw say, tak care an' ha' nowt to do wi' him. It isn't i'th' natur ov ony body to be able to do ivery thing, an' yo 'll oft find 'at them 'at con do all bi ther tawk, con varry seldom do owt reight.
This Tinklin Tom, 'at aw knew, lived at Northaaram, an' he'd managed to mak fowk believe 'at he wor a varry cliver chap, an' whoiver wanted owt doin they wor sure to send for Tom; an' varry oft he did better nor like, to say 'at he had to do it aght ov his own heead; an' if iver he made a mess o' owt, it wor sure to be th' fault o' th' stuff, or else them 'at held th' leet: it wor niver Tommy's.
It happened one time 'at Tom had a bit o' spare time ov his hands, soa he went up to th' aleus to get a pint o' drink, singing as he went, "Ye lads an' lasses so blithe an' gay, come to the 'Woodlands,' come away." "Hallo, Tom," said th' landlord, "tha'rt just th' chicken aw wor wantin! Tha mun gi' us a lift, wi' ta?"
"A lift! What does ta mean? What is it tha wants liftin? Aw dar say aw con do mi share, for aw've seen th' time when ther worn't a chap i' Awrram 'at could lift as mich as me."
Why, Tom! aw'm capt tha hasn't heeard! Doesn't ta knaw 'at we're goin to have a grand tea-drinkin up stairs to neet, an' a grand ball ta finish off wi'?"
"Noa, ther's niver noabdy tells me owt," says Tom.
"Well, aw thowt tha knew all abaght it—its to be a furst rate doo; tickets to be a shillin a piece, an' them 'at taks two con have' em for one an' ninepence; an' we're gooin to have a peanner, for tha knaws noa beershop's thowt respectable nah, unless ther's a peanner i' th' chamer an' an ale pump i'th' bar, soa as aw dooan't want to be behund other fowk, aw've borrowed one ov a musichener 'at keeps a shop, an' a grand un it is as iver tha clapt thi een on."
"What is it made on?" says Tom.
"Aw dooan't knaw reightly, but aw think its awther mogny or wallmuck—aw forget whether; but there it is. Luk! Sithee!" he sed, runnin to th' winder, "come help us to get it in."
They booath ran aght to help th' lads at bad browt it, to get it off th' spring cart, an' they varry sooin had it inside. As sooin as Tom an' th' landlord wor left to thersen, they began to try to get it upstairs; but they'd a job; they gat it up a step or two, an' thear it stuck.
"Nah, then!" sed Tom, for he wor at th' top side, "nab then, lift! howd on! lift! lift! howd on! lift! What th' shames are ta dooin?"
"Aw'm liftin," sed th' landlord, "what should aw be dooin, thinks ta?"
"Well, try agean," says Tom, "nah then, lift! lift! Oh-h-h! Howd on! what the hangmit are ta doin?"
"What's up?" says th' landlord.
"Can't ta see, lumpheead! tha's ommost brokken mi fingers ageean that step!"
"Tha should keep thi fingers aght o'th' gate, an' then they willn't get brokken."
"If tha doesn't mind what tha'rt saying, aw 'll pitch booath thee an' it to th' botham; an' it will ha' to goa thear yet, for it'll niver come up this way. They must be fooils 'at mak stuff ta big ta get up th' steps. Aw once made a mangel 'at aw could tak up steps hauf this width."
"Well, its net gooin up, that's plain enuff, Tom, soa what mun we do nah?"
"We mun get it back, an' try to pull it in 'at th' charner winder, but we shall want a stee."
"Oh, we can sooin get that," says th' landlord, "just thee stop an' see 'at noabdy touches it, an' aw'll goa borrow one."
Off he went, an' wor sooin back wi' th' stee; an' they reared it up agean th' charner winder an' teed a roap raand th' middle o'th' peanner, an' wol th' landlord went up th' stairs to pool, Tom stopt daan to put it on an' shove, an' it began to goa up varry nicely, an' Tom followed to steady it. When it had getten abaght hauf way, th' stee began to bend a gooid bit. "Steady fair," says th' landlord, "tha munnot come ony farther, Tom: if tha does, it'll smash! Aw think awst be able to manage nah." Soa Tom went back, an' th' landlord kept poolin it up a bit at a time. As it kept gooin up an' up, it kept gettin a bit moor to one side. "Ha is it nah, Tom?"
"Oh, its all serene—th' centre o' gravitum's all reight up to nah," says Tom.
Up it went—little an' little—an' ivery time it stirr'd it gat a bit moor off th' edge, an' just as he'd getten it to th' winder bottom, ovver it went an' daan it fell wi' a crash an' a buzz, like a volley o' donce music shot aght ov a cannon, an' aght coom all th' neighbors to see what wor up.
An' it did luk a seet, reight enuff. Th' top had flown off, an' one leg stuck aght one way an tother stuck aght another. It wodn't ha' luk'd hauf as ill if it had been an owd deal box o' some sooart; but a grand mogny peanner—it luk'd just awful, Its like a druffen chap 'ats dressed i' black cloath—he allus luks war nor one 'ats dress'd i' fushten.
"Well, what's to be done nah?" says th' landlord, when he'd getten daan ta Tom agean, "tha reckons to knaw a bit o' summat abaght music, doesn't ta? What mun wi' do wi' this lot?"
"Well," says Tom, "aw've put a hanel or two on to a box organ an' polished a flute or two i' mi time, soa aw owt to knaw summat, but aw've niver had owt to do wi' peanners; but aw dar say if we had it inside, aw could do a bit o' summat wi' it."
"We can easy manage that," said th' landlord, "for we can tak it up i' numbers!"
In a short time they had it carried up an' put together, but what bothered Tom wor, all th' strings wor in a lump, for th' wood 'at they wor screw'd to had brokken lawse an' tumelled into th' bottom.
"Nah, if we could nobbut get this wood wi' all thease pegs in, an' all thease wires fesend to it, lifted up into th' reight spot, aw think ther'd be a chonce o' gettin some mewsic aght on it—soa seize hold an' lift," said Tom. An' they did lift I for they lifted th' peanner clean off th' floor.
"A'a dear! this'll never do," says Tom, "aw niver saw ony body frame wor i' mi life; we mun ha' somdy to sit on it to hold it daan. Connot th' mistress spare time, thinks ta? Shoo's a tidy weight.
"Sally, come here!" shaated aght th' landlord, an' shoo wor up in a minit. "Nah, we want thee to sit daan o' this article wol we lift."
"What, sit me daan o'th' kays, does ta mean? Tha doesn't think at aw con play, does ta lad?"
"Sit thee daan! says th' landlord, varry cross; tha's noa need to be feeard o' been blown up—its nooan a wind instrument."
Shoo set daan, tho' shoo didn't seem mich to like it, an after a gooid deal o' tuggin an' poolin, th' chaps managed to get it up within abaght an inch o' whear it had been befoor.
"Thear!" said Tom, "that begins to luk moor like summat." "Eea, it does," says th' landlord, "aw shouldn't be daan abaght makin a peanner after this; but if aw did mak one, aw'd mak one 'at wodn't braik wi' fallin an odd stoory. Aw dooant think him aw borrowed it on 'll be able to find owt aght."
"Well, aw dooant knaw," says Tom, "aw'm th' fastest what to do wi' thease thingams 'at waggles abaght soa; tha sees they owt to hit thease wires, but they're all too long someha."
"Why, doesn't ta think 'at tha could shorten 'em a bit? It luks to me as if it 'll do if them gets shortened, Sally! get up! Are ta baan to sit thear all th' day? Go an' borrow yond butcher's saig, an' then Tom can cut thease foldedols."
Sally went an' left' em booath starin at th' music box, as shoo called it, an' when shoo'd gooan th' landlord walked raand it two or three times, an' then stoppin i' front o' Tom, he said, "Well, Tom, aw allus thowt 'at tha wor fond o' tinklin at all sooarts o' jobs, but aw didn't gie thee credit for being able to do owt like this."
"Why, yo' see, maister, its born i' some fowk,' replied Tom. "Nah when aw wor a lad aw once made a tin whistle aght ov a brass canel-stick, an' they could ha' played on it too, but it tuk sich a deal o' wind, but ther wor a chap 'at used to come to awr haase 'at blew it mony a time."
"Tha doesn't say soa! A'a, what a thing it is to be born wi' sich a heead as thine; aw wonder tha doesn't crack thi brain wi' studdyin soa mich abaght things. Aw've thowt mony a time when aw've heeard fowk tawk abaght thee 'at its a thaasand pities thi mother hadn't twins."
"Why," said Tom, "aw think sometimes 'at if aw'd been edicated aw should happen a capt somdy; but that's Sally's fooit, aw think."
Sally browt th' saig, an' after a gooid deal o' squarin abaght, Tom said "Aw think th' best plan 'll be to cut th' lot off to start wi', an' then we can mak 'em what length we want 'em."
"Suit thi sen, tha owt to knaw," said th' landlord, an' Tom began to saig away. He'd getten th' hauf on 'em cut, when up comes th' chap at they'd borrowed it on. "I understand you've had an accident," he said, "but I hope its not much worse?"
"Well, it has getten a bit ov a shake," says Tom, "but aw think we'll be able to mak it all square agean in a bit."
"Why, my dear fellow, what are you doing? You are destroying the whole affair—you are cutting the action!"
"Action! What action? What does ta mean?" says Tom.
"Why, you are cutting the working part all to pieces!"
"Warkin pairt! Aw'm dooin nowt o' th' sooart—its th' playing pairt 'at aw'm cuttin; but if aw ammot dooin reight, tak th' saig an' lets see ha tha'll do it."
"No, indeed—I shall have nothing to do with it—the whole thing is ruined; and the landlord will have to pay me for it, so I wish you a very good day."
Tom an' th' landlord watched him aght o'th' seet, an' for a minit or two nawther on 'em spake, but 'at th' last th' landlord says, "What's to be done, Tom? what's to be done?"
Tom seemed as dumb as th' peanner an' dived his hands into his britches pockets varry near up to th' elbows.
"If aw wor yo maister," he said, "aw wodn't bother ony moor wi' this to day, for ther's a deal o' tinklin wark to be done at it afoor its fit for mich; aw'd shove it into a corner an' say nowt abaght it for fear it might stop th' tickets for sellin, an' when fowk have getten ther tea an' want to donce, ther's sure some music to turn up throo somewhear."
Th' landlord seemed convinced ther wor some truth i' what he said, soa they lifted it carefully into a corner an' left it.
Ther wor a rare sale o' tickets that day, an' when tea time coom they wor as mony as three sittins daan, but th' pots were noa sooiner sided nor they began to ax abaght th' mewsic. Tom had set varry still wol he saw all ready—then standing up wi' his cap i' his hand, he coff'd an' began, "Ladies an' gents—its a vary unfortunate affair, is this; but yo see troubles are niver to seek: th' landlord said he'd have a peanner to neet, an' he's getten one, but its aght o' tune; but rayther nor yo should be disappointed aw'll whistle a tune for yo misen, an' aw think ther's two or three moor at '11 be able to help me a bit."
Withaat moor adoo he struck up a tune: th' lasses giggled an th' lads luk'd soft; but in a bit one or two gate up, an' began turnin raand, an' it worn't long afoor they wor all whirlin away like a lot o' scopperils, an' as happy as happy could be. Tom sooin fun two or three moor to help him at whistling, an' afoor it wor ovver they all agreed 'at they'd niver enjoyed thersen hauf as weel at ony ball they'd iver been at afoor, as they had that neet; but th' best o' friends mun pairt, an' th' time coom when they mud goa hooam, soa just bith' way ov a wind up, Tom stood ov a bench an' then made a varry nice soort ov a speech, an' ended bi sayin "ha sorry he felt for th' landlord: for he'd have a deal o' brass to pay to mak up for th' accident 'at's happened, an' as they'd all enjoy'd thersen soa weel, he thowt they wodn't object to mak a collection ov a trifle to help him, an' he should have mich pleasure i' gooin raand wi' th' hat."
After this speech they all began fumlin i' ther pockets an' declaring they'd do what they could for him; an' when th' hat went raand they worn't one but what gave summat an' as ther wor twenty-three on 'em, it coom to eleven-pence-hawpny. Tom handed it ovver to th' landlord, who thanked' em in a varry neat an affectin way, an' begged on 'em to have a shillin oth' o' warm ale at his expense, which they had. After that they separated, thankful to think' at they'd been able to do a trifle towards helpin a chap aght ov his troubles.
Th' landlord had to pay for th' peanner at last, an' as they couldn't mak it play, Tinklin Tom an' a plumber turned it into a ale pump, an' it stands i'th' bar to this day, an' they say its th' handsomest machine o'th' sooart i' Northaaram. Th' landlord's studied music a bit sin' then, an' as sooin as he hears th' kay nooat ov a chap's voice, he can tell whether to draw him flat ale or sharp ale, as natural as con be. An' they're gooin to kursen th' haase a "music ale haase;" an soa mony fowk goa to see it, 'at th' landlord says he "fell i' luck for th' furst time in his life when th' peanner fell aght o'th' winder."
"Ha! ha! ha! Well, that's a stunner, Amos! Tha's done that a gooid en, but yond's th' whew, soa we mun goa an' do another bit for th' maister. Ha! ha! ha!"
In a village not very far from where I am now sitting, and in the principal street, (for it was the only one,) was situated an old-fashioned hostelry where nightly all the Solomons of the district used to congregate. The room they occupied was a large kitchen, the floor of which was scoured and sanded; and all the furniture, which was immovable, was brushed as white as it was possible to be. Here they held their political discussions, and showed how Gladstone had missed it, and clearly demonstrated that had their advice been acted upon, the world would very soon have become so regenerated that soldiers, sailors, parliaments, and policemen, would be things altogether useless, and we should soon be in such a position that pleasure would be the only business of life. On the night of which I write, the conversation turned upon the question of School Boards. Old Michael, who was a great authority on the question of education, owing to his daughter being a pupil teacher, was at once appealed to for his opinion.
"Well," he said, "awve net gooan soa deeply into this matter as some things, but aw should think 'at they'res gooin to be a mistak all th' way through. If aw understand it reight, iverybody's to be eddicated to sich a pitch, wol they'll be able to tak a sitiwation awther as a clark at a bank or a clark at a chapel, an' yo know as weel as aw do 'at ther's some fowk yo connot eddicate. My dowter has tell'd me monny a time, 'at ther's a deeal o' fowk 'at's born withaat heeads. Yo may think it saands strange but aw believe it's true—they've nobbut getten lumps, an' they're like blind boils, yo may pooltice 'em as long as yo like, an' yo can niver draw 'em to a heead, an' that bein th' case aw think 'at Forster's made a mess on it. Nah if he'd ha takken my advice, he'd ha letten it alooan until sich times as fowk had getten sense enuff to understand things."
"But Michael," said Dick Dardust, "aw must say at aw dooant agree exactly wi' all tha says, an' aw connot help thinkin 'at thy dowter may happen be mistakken abaat fowks' heeads."
"Nah, if tha'rt gooin to set thisen up as superior to my dowter, ov coorse aw've done at once. If somdy 'at's spent soa monny year i' improvin ther intellectul an' morbid sensibleness is to be questioned bi a ninkumpoop like thee, it's time to drop it."
"Aw dooant want to set misen up at all, Michael, all aw have to say is 'at th' best on us may be mistakken, an' aw've heeard a chap say, an' yo may tak his word for it, for he comes throo London, 'at this Schooil Booard an' this technical eddication is baan to revolutionize this country."
"God forbid! 'at we should iver have ony revolution i' this country as long as aw live," said Simon o' th' Lee, who had been listening, 'for ther's been blooid enuff shed latly.'
"Nay," said Michael, "tha doesn't understand what he meeans, he doesn't meean wars, he meeans 'at things will ha to be turned raand. Nah my dowter tells me 'at th' world's in a revolution allus, that is, it keeps turnin raand ov its own axle tree throo morn to neet an' niver stops."
"A'a Michael,' said Simon, 'aw think thy dowter is tryin to cram thi a bit; nah did ta iver catch th' world th' wrang side up, for aw niver did, an' aw've lived a year or two?"
"Well, awm net able to argify it, all aw know is 'at awm tell'd soa. But to come back to th' old point, abaat this Schooil Booard, and technical eddication? nah what do yo call technical eddication? Come, aat wi' it some o' yo 'at reckon to be soa weel up."
"Wel," said Dick, "technical eddication is, aw suppooas, summat 'at fowk leearns to do 'em some gooid, an' if aw understand it reight, it's summat 'at fowk leearns withaat ony books or owt o' that sooart."
"Nay," said Simon, "tha'rt wrang this time,—if aw understand it, technical eddication meeans leearnin th' names o' things sich as stars an' plants an' joints o' mait, an' iverything o' that sooart; isn't that it, Michael?"
"Aw dooant think it is, aw think Dick's nearer th' mark nor thee, for aw believe it's as he says, yo leearn it withaat ony books; in fact it's that sooart o' eddication at fowk have 'at niver went to th' schooil, it's a sooart o' common sense view o' things,—a sooart o' beein able to invent a way to do owt yo want ommost. Nah, aw'll gie yo a sample o' what aw call technical eddication. My gronfayther wor booath deeaf an' dumb an' laim, aw can just recollect him, tho he deed when aw wor a lad; he wor born deeaf an' dumb but he wornt born laim, that happened after he gate to be a man. Well, he niver went to th' schooil, but yet he wor one o' th' mooast genius chaps 'at iver yo met i' yor life; he'd a way ov his own o' dooin iverything. Aw've heeard mi fayther tell 'at when he wor a lad, ther wor a family o' five on 'em, an' they all worked at th' factory, an' as lads will, they sometimes stopt aat soa lat ov a neet 'at they fan it varry hard wark to get up next mornin; an' they had to be up at five o'clock 'coss they'd a long way to walk. Nah, mi gronfayther could nawther get up nor call aat, but ha do yo think he managed to get' 'em aat o' bed? He used to allus keep abaat a barro looad o' brokken bricks at his bedside, an' th' lads used to know as sooin as they felt 'em flyin abaat ther heeads 'at it wor time to be stirrin: one used to be enuff in a general way, but th' second wor sure to do it, even if he wor a hard sleeper, an' if th' third didn't wakken him, yo could book him for a tombstooan ony minit. Nah that's what aw call technical eddication."
"Well, if throwin bricks at a chaps heead is technical eddication, aw dooant see 'at we want a Schooil Booard to taich us that," said Jabez, "for ther's lots 'at can manage that job withaat. Nah awl tell yo what technical eddication is as yo all seem fast amang it."
"Well, if tha can lawse us, we desarve putting in a pooak an' shakkin up," said Michael, low down, but just loud enough to be heard.
"Aw heeard thi what tha sed Michael, but technical eddication is that sooart 'at taiches 'em a trade, an aw think its a varry sensible thing, 'an aw for one am i' favor ov a Schooil Board, 'an if we dooant get one up, ther's sure to be some o' them local board chaps at will, an' aw consider this to be a varry gooid time to consider th' subject, 'an depend on it, them 'at start it will have th' best chonce o' being vooated in members; an' as nooan on us but Michael has ony public office, aw beg to propooas 'at we form ussen into a quorum an mak application for a Schooil Booard, an' aw beg also to propooas 'at Michael is th' cheerman."
This last proposition was a varry good hit, for he knew that if Michael had the chance to be chairman, that he would not care a farthing what the object might be,—and there are a many like Michael in that particular.
Michael hum'd and ha'd a few times, but at last he overcame his scruples and said, "he didn't know but what it wor for th' best, and if it wornt, if it had to be done they might as weel have th' honor o' doin it as onybody else."
They held a meeting, but it would be useless for me to attempt to make you understand their arguments, for I did not, and I am pretty well convinced that they were similarly situated; but at last it was unanimously resolved that they should have a School Board, and Simon called for pen, ink, and paper to draw up a petition, and he began in a very promising manner, and proceeded very well until he came to the word technical, then he scratched his head.
"What's to do nah?" said Michael.
"Ha do yo spell technical?" said Simon, "is there a K in it?"
"Ho eea! ther must be a K in it," said Dick, "let's see, teck, neck, peck, reck, check, deck, leck;—hi! ther must be a K in it, ther's a K i' all words o' that sooart."
"Well, but aw believe ther isn't a K in it for all that," said Simon, "but whear's ther an old newspaper, we can happen find it mentioned thear."
So he got an old paper, and whilst he was running down the columns, the rest of the members were arranging when they could have th' furst feed at th' heead o' th' Booard.
"Nah," he said, "awve fun it."
"An' ther's a K in it ov coarse," sed Michael.
"As it happens tha'rt wrang for once," said Simon, "for ther isn't."
"Then ther owt to be, that's all, but aw dooant put ony faith i' newspapers, for when aw wor wed, they put in my name Michael withaat a K."
"Well, that wor reight enough, ther isnt a K i' Michael."
"Oh, isnt ther?—varry gooid,—aw know 'at my dowter spells it wi' a K an' shoo's a pupil taicher, soa shoo owt to know," said Michael.
"Thy dowter be blowed! tha wants to ram thy dowter daan ivery body's throit."
"Do aw?—Awd be looath to ram her daan thy throit anyway, tho it wodnt be sich a varry hard job, for thi maath's ommost big enuff."
"If its ony bigger accordingly nor thy nooas awl be smoored; but tha con tak th' Schooil Board an thi dowter too for what aw care, an' mich gooid may shoo do thi, for awl niver be under a cheerman at spells Michael wi' a K.
"Nah chaps," said Dick Dardust, "dont yo fratch."
"Simon does reight to fratch," said another, "Michael has noa business allus to be draggin in his dowter if shoo is a schooil mistress. My wife's sister-i'-law had a hont 'at wor a schooil mistress, an' aw dooant keep reapin it up."
As each of them had had their pints replenished a number of times during the discussion, the old saying that "when drink's in wit is out," began to be illustrated; and there was such an uproar in the place that the landlord was compelled to send for some policemen to assist him in turning them out, and when they had gone he muttered to himself, as he picked up the broken pints, "Schooil Booards! its time they'd summat. What do they want wi' Schooil Booards? Aw niver went to th' schooil an' luk at me! why aw could sup a 18 gallon to mi own cheek an net mak soa mich bother."
Whilst all this had been going on, a few of the quiet and unassuming people of the village had met at the school room for the purpose of considering the same subject. The clergyman was in the chair, and as might be expected, the business was carried on in a very different manner, and they decided to hold a public meeting, and give all an opportunity to express their opinions. Judge the dismay of the pot house Solomons, when they saw the village placarded with announcements on which the words "School Board," were in very large letters. They at once set about raising some opposition, for they felt themselves aggrieved.
Michael and Simon o'th' Lee happened to meet as they were going to work. "Nah Simon, tha sees what a mess thy stupid wark's getten us into. If tha hadn't sed ther wornt a K i' technical it ud niver ha' come to this."
"If tha hadn't sed 'at ther wor a K i' Michael it would niver ha happened, an' ther isnt a K i' technical."
"Well, happen net, but ther is a K i' Michael, becoss my dowter says—"
"Thy dowter's a fooil! shoo taks after her faither!" said Simon, as he walked away.
"Ha ha, ha! Well shoo hasnt lived to thy age withaat leearnin to know at ther's a K i' Michael," he shouted after him.
But the public meeting was held, and there was some very strong opposition, and Michael made a very long speech against School Boards, for he said that "his dowter wor a pupil taicher, an' shoo sed 'at Schooil Booards wor nobbut necessary i' them places whear they required 'em, an' he should propooas 'at this meetin wor ov opinion 'at this question should stand ovver until his dowter wor old enuff to have a schooil ov her own, an' if shoo couldn't eddicate fowk up to th' mark, it wod be time enuff to have a Schooil Booard then."
"Gooid lad, Michael!" said one.
"Michael wi' a K!" said another.
"Goa home to thi dowter, an' tell her to give thi brains a soap lather!" shouted a voice that was verry like unto Simon's.
There was a good deal of uproar for a time, but the meeting at length decided by a vote of ten to one in favour of a school board, so the opposition did no good after all, and Michael's daughter will have to take her chance.
"Has ta heeard th' news?"
"Niver a word! What's up?"
"Old Duke's getten wed."
"Nay, tha caps me nah! An' who's th' gurt maddlin getten wed to? Awst ha thowt he'd gettin to old to do that."
"He's wed Mary o' Nathan's o'th' Sludge Hoil."
"Well, tha does cap me nah! Why, he's old enuff to be her gronfayther ommost. A'a dear, A'a dear! Whativer wor shoo thinkin on? But I reckon shoo mud have a felly o' some sooart; but awd ha waited a bit longer if awd been her befoor awd ha' taen up wi' old Duke; besides he's a peg leg."
"Well shoo may'nt like him ony war for that, an' tha sees it'll save her a bit o' trouble, for shoo'll nobbut have one booit to black. But shoo's a trimmer, an' if he doesn't live to rue his bargain, awst be chaited. Shoo play'd him one o'th' nicest tricks, th' day after they gate wed 'at awve heeard tell on for a long time."
"Ha wor that?"
"Well, tha sees he gate rayther fresh o'th' weddin day, an' he wor varry dry when he wakken'd next mornin, soa he sed he'd get up an' goa as far as 'Th' Quiet Corner,' for a leck on; but shoo tell'd him he'd ha to do nowt o'th' sooart, for it wor ill enough to have a druffen chap at neet withaat havin one 'at started as sooin as he gate up. But he sed he should goa, an' shoo said he should'nt, an' they started o' threapin, but what does shoo do when he worn't lukkin, but shoves his peg leg up th' flue, an' he sowt it all ovver but couldn't find it?"
"That wor a cunnin trick onyway, but what sed Duke?"
"He had to stop at hooam ov cooarse, for shoo wod'nt tell him whear it wor until he promised net to goa near th' alehouse that day, an it had getten towards neet when he promised and as shoo'd kept a gooid fire all th' time it had getten a fairish warmin, and' old Duke noa sooiner gate it on an' wor walkin abaat a bit, nor it mashed like a pot, an' he fell his whoallength on to th' floor with his heead i'th' coilskep."
"Nay, tha does cap me nah! Ther'd be a bonny rumpus awl bet. Did ta hear?"
"Aw heeard nowt noa farther, nobbut some ov his chums gate to know, an soa they made a subscription, an' bowt him another, an' they had it painted red, white and blue, an' sent it lapt up i' silk paper. Old Duke wor ommost malancholy when he saw it, but Mary nobbut laft, an started on an' blackleeaded it, an' in a varry little time he wor set i'th' 'Quiet Corner,' wi as handsome a peg leg as tha'd wish to see. They chaff him a gooid bit abaat weddin Mary, but he taks it all i' gooid part, an' they've sent all sooarts o' presents to him. One day last week they sent him a creddle, an' Mary wor soa mad wol shoo gate th' blocker an' wor baan to chop it into chips, and wol shoo wor stormin on, a little lad coom to th' door an' sed, 'please aw've browt a pair o' specteckels for old Duke to rock th' creddle in.' An' shoo catched him a drive at side o'th' heead, wol his een fair blazed, an th' specteckels flew into th' middle o'th' rooad."
"Well, but it wor hardly reight on her to claat th' lad, coss he knew nowt abaat it."
"Why tha sees shoo didn't just think abaat it, but shoo made it all reight at after an gave him a butter cake, an' old Duke sam'd up th' specs, an' after saigin th' heead off, he turned th' creddle into a manger for his donkey."
"Well, tha caps me! But has ta heeard abaat that barrel o' ale runnin away throo old Nipsomes tother wick?"
"Noa, ha wor that? Aw hardly thowt he'd ony ale 'at had strength to run away."
"O but he has, for th' last gill awe gate fit three on us, an' we left some then. But it wor sellable stuff, awve had war:—net mich. But awl tell thi abaat this barrel. Th' brewery cart wor liverin some, an' tha knows their ale-cellar door is just at th' top o'th' old hill, an th' cartdriver let a barrel slip, an' away it roll'd daan th' hill slap agean th' gas lamp, an' it braik th' pooast i' two, an off it went till it coom to th' wall at th' bottom, when th' barrel end brast aat an' all th' ale wor wasted. Soa tha sees ther must ha been some strength in it if it could braik a iron lamp pooast; an' it wor nobbut common ale."
"Well th' loss wodn't be soa varry mich after all, they'll get ovver it. But has ta heeard they're gooin to turn Bill Summerscales' tripe shop into a limited liability company?"
"Nay, it's niver true, is it?"
"Its true enuff, for aw've been tell'd all abaat it bi a chap 'ats had it throo Bill hissen, but its a saycret tha knows, soa tha munnot tell onybody; but what does ta think on it?"
"Well aw hardly know what to think, but it seems to me 'at ther'll be noa limit to th' limited's in a bit. But what's th' shares to be, has ta heeard?"
"Ho e'ea! Ther's to be two hundred shares at a shillin a piece; nineteen twentieths he's baan to keep for hissen, an' his relations are to have th' furst chonce o'th' other, so as it'll be as mich a family affair as possible. Does ta see, that's done soa as if ivery thing doesn't work as it should, or ther should be ony fallin off i'th' quality o'th' tripe, they'll keep it quiet for ther own sakes."
"Well, aw cannot see what iver he's turnin it into a company consarn for?"
"Does ta see, he's rayther fast for that stuff fowk buys pigs wi, an' he's niver been able to pay for yon shuts painting yet, an' tha sees if theas shares are all taen up, it'll put him into a bit o' ready brass; an' th' dividend is to be declared once a year, an' th' shareholders can have ther choice whether they tak it aat i' tripe or trotters; an if th' first years' profit doesn't run to as mich as'll be a meal a piece, it'll be carried to a presarve fund, though what presarved tripe 'll be like aw cant tell."
"Well, tha caps me nah! Does ta think o' takkin up a share or two?"
"Aw hardly know yet. If aw tummel ovver as mich on mi way hooam as'll pay th' deposit, aw happen shall, but net else."
"Well, they'll net be mich i' my line. Who does ta think aw met to-day? Try to guess."
"Net aw marry! Awm noa hand at guessin."
"It wor Jim Wilkins, don'd up like a gentleman. It licks me whear he gets his brass; if ther isn't a smash up thear some day awst be capt. But he ows me nowt."
"Aw suppose his wife's a varry highty tighty sooart ov a body. Shoo's been browt up at th' boardin schooil."
"Why then, shoo'll be a poor dowdy in a haase. It's a queer thing, but eddication seems to mar as mony as it maks. Aw dooant know what Foster's bill may do."
"Is he baan to get wed?"
"Who?"
"Bill Foster."
"Aw ne'er sed owt abaat Bill Foster, aw mean Foster, M. P. for Bradforth. He's browt in a bill to eddicate fowks childer."
"Ho has he, aw niver heeard on it."
"Why tha'rt awfully behund hand."
"Aw may be i' mi politics, but net i' me payments, an' that's what monny a thaasand connot say. Aw wonder sometimes ha it wod ha been if iverybody 'at owed owt had been foorced to put it o'th' census paper. But what does ta think abaat old Strap puttin daan all his five childer musicianers?"
"Nay aw dooant know, but he wor allus a foxy sooart ov a chap an' he'd have some reason for it. But ha does ta mak it aat 'at they are all musicians?"
"Why, ther's two bellringers, two drummers, an' one drum hugger, an they all play off nooats, an' a varry long way off 'em sometimes. Did ta hear tell abaat them two lads o' his havin that do i'th' church steeple?"
"Noa, indeed aw! Let's have it."
"Well tha knows it happened to be practice neet an' as Ike wor gooin to th' church he bowt a sheep's pluck an' tuk it wi him, intendin to tak it hooam an have it cooked for ther supper. He happened to be th' furst 'at gate into th' bell chamer, soa he hung th' sheep pluck up agean th' wall, an' then went daan agean, leavin a little lamp burnin i'th' steeple. He'd hardly getten off th' step when his brother coom, an' findin th' door oppen he went up; but befoor he gate thear, a gust o' wind blew aat th' leet an' all wor as dark as pitch. He thowt it wor varry strange for he knew Ike had come before him, soa he bawled aat 'Ike!' but nobody spaik. 'Aw know tha'rt up here,' he sed, 'soa let's ha nooan o' thi tricks. Spaik, wi' ta?" but nowt spaik. Sid felt rayther freetened, but he began to grope all raand th' walls, bein sure his brother wor thear i'th' dark. All at once his hand coom agean a piece o' liver, an' it felt soa cold, an' soa mich like a face, 'at he started back, an' as sooin as he could find th' step, he ran daan as fast as he could, an' when he gate to th' bottom he luk'd at his hand an' it wor all blooidy. 'Awr Ike's cut his throit,' he sed, 'Whativer mun aw do?' An he wor just gooin to yell aat 'Police!' when who should come up but his brother. Th' seet on him tuk a gurt looard off Sid's mind, but yet he wor varry freetened. 'What's th' matter, Sid,' sed his brother, 'tha luks ill; Isn't th' pluck all reight?' 'Th' pluck's gooan,' sed Sid, shakkin his heead an' puttin his hand on his heart. 'Gooan!—Aw'll niver goa into that bell-chamer ageean as long as aw live! Aw've allus sed, if a chap 'll rob another ov his livin, he'll rob him ov his life if he's a chonce.'"
"'Well aw wor just thinkin a gooin for th' police,' sed Sid, 'but we dooant know who it is.' Its one o'th' ringers as sure as we're here.' 'Hi, its one o'th' ringers noa daat, but aw hooap he hasn't a wife an' a lot o' childer.' 'Well,' sed Ike, 'if he has, an taks it hooam for 'em to ait, aw hooap it'll chooak th' lot on 'em.' Just as he sed this, all th' rest o'th' ringers coom up, an' were capt to find Ike an' Sid soa excited, soa pairt cluthered raand one an' pairt raand tother, an' Sid tell'd one lot 'at a chap had cut his throit i'th' bell chamer, an' Ike tell'd tother 'at somdy'd stown his sheep's pluck. 'Well we mun goa an see,' sed some on 'em, an they gate some leets an away they went up. Ike wor th' first an' Sid th' last. When they gate into th' chamer, Ike saw th' pluck hung up just whear he'd left it, an' he turned raand an' saw Sid peepin off th' corner o'th' door. 'This is one o' thy tricks, Sid,' sed Ike, but th' words wor hardly aat ov his maath befoor Sid wor on his knees declaring, 'at he'd niver harmed onybody i' all his life. 'Tha's noa need to goa onto thi knees abaat it onyway,' sed Ike, 'haiver, hear it is, soa all's reight, tha con hug it up hooam for me; an' he gave it him. Sid wor soa taen, wol he put up his hands to mak sure 'at he worn't asleep; an' th' chaps 'at he'd been tellin his tale to, began to smell a rat, an' at last it wor all explained, an' niver mind if ther worn't some laffin an' chaffin. Poor Sid gets plagued abaat it yet, for ommost ivery body's getten to know, an' if onnybody, livin abaat that church, wants a sheep's heead an' a pluck, they order th' butcher to send 'em a New-Taan Boggard."
"Well tha caps me nah!"
"Gooid neet.—Awr Mally 'll think aw'm niver comin."
"Gooid neet.—But is it true?"
"True!—It's just as true as all sich like."
"A'a, well,—tha caps me nah!"
Nay fer sewer!" sed Betty Longtongue, as Sally Jibjab had finished tellin her 'at one o' th' neighbor's husband's had getten turned off. "Well, awm capt he didn't get seck'd long sin, for they tell me he wor niver liked amang th' work fowk, an' awm sure aw've seen him go in to his wark monny a time a full clock haar after awr lot's had to be thear. But aw thawt he'd find his level at last, an' awm net oft mistakken, far aw can see a hoil in a stee as weel as th' maaast."
"Why but it has'nt been owt abaat his wark 'at he's been seck'd for, but him an' two or three moor have been playin a trick o' Jane Sucksmith's husband, an' its getten to th' maister's ears, an' soa they seck'd him thear an' then."
"Nay fer sewer! whatever will ta say! Why what has he been dooin? Same mak o' pousement aw'll be bun for't."
"Well, aw can nobbut tell th' tale as it wor tell'd to me tha knows; but her 'at tell'd me, had it tell'd bi somdy 'at had heeard it throo one 'at owt to know, soa its true enuff. It seems old Sucksmith had been drinkin tother day, an' he must ha getten moor nor he could carry, an' tha knows as weel as me 'at he can sup moor nor what ud mak some fowk druffen, an' walk as steady as if he'd swallow'd a church, steeple an' all; an' he ligg'd him daan o' some sheets o' wool 'at wor bi th' rooad side, an' as Musty wor goain past he saw him, an' soa he thowt he'd have a marlock, an' he went an' fun up some ov his chums an' they gate sooit an' daub'd his face wol he luk'd war nor old Scrat hissen."
"Nay fer sewer! Why they mud easily do that aw believe, for he's nooan a gooid favvor'd chap at th' best hand."
"Noa he isn't, but they worn't content wi' that but Musty went an' gate some sooart o' paader 'at they use to dye red worset an' sich like stuff wi', an he tuk off his cap an' sprinkled it all amang his toppin, an then they left him, an' in a bit he wakken'd up, for all th' childer ith district wor gethered raand him, starin at him. Just then Musty, 'at had been waiting abaat, reckoned to come past in a great hurry, an' as sooin as he saw Sucksmith, he set up a gurt shaat o' laffin, an says, "Whativer has ta been doain, aw niver saw sich a freet i' mi life." Sucksmith wor reight gaumless for a while, but he says, "What is ther to laff at? Did ta niver see me befoor thinks ta?" "Well aw niver saw thi luk like that affoar onnyway. Whoiver is it 'at's been playin thee this trick?"
"What trick does ta meean?" he sed.
"Why doesn't ta know at thi face is all daubed wi sooit?"
Sucksmith put up his hand to feel, an' when he saw his fingers all grimed, he sed, "Aw wish aw knew who'd done this, Musty; awd be straight wi' him, an sooin too. To think 'at a chap connot fall asleep in a Kristine country withaat havin his face painted war nor a paysayger, but awst find it aght someday."
"Well, aw think its th' best plan to goa wi' me to th' "Blue Dunnock," sed Musty, an' gie thisen a gooid wesh."
Soa they went an' all Musty's mates wor set waitin in another raam.
Th' landlady wor varry gooid i' findin him some sooap an' watter, o'th' sinkstooan, an' he started to give hissen a reight gooid swill, an as sooin as th' watter gate to this stuff 'at they'd put ov his heead, it began to roll daan th' color o' blooid, an' as sooin as he oppen'd his e'en he saw it, an' he thowt at first it must be his nooas 'at wor bleedin, an' as th' landlady worn't abaat, he blew his nooase oth towel to see, but it worn't, then he put up his hand to his heead an' thear it wor sure enuff. He ommost fell sick when he saw it, an' he called for Musty as laad as he could, to see what wor to do. "Whativer's th' matter wi me thinks ta, Musty? Just Iuk, awm bleedin like a pig."
"A'a, dear, A'a dear! Why tha must ha brokken a blooid vessel."
"Aw think awve brokken two or three," sed Sucksmith "but what mun aw do?"
"Sewse thi heead wi cold watter; ther's nowt stops bleedin like cold watter. Why, if tha gooas on tha'll bleed to th' deeath."
"Aw begin to feel faint already," sed Sucksmith, as he started o' throwin moor watter on his heead; but th' moor he put on an' th' moor blooid seemed to come, an' he sed, "Oh, dear! aw believe awm done for this time, Musty; doesn't ta think tha'd better send for a doctor?"
When he lifted up his heead, Musty wor foorced to turn away for a minit to get a straight face, for Sucksmith's wor dyed th' color ov a raw beef steak, an' his heead luk'd like one o' them red door mats 'at tha's seen. But Musty advised him to goa on wi' th' watter, an' he did, an' in a while it begun to have less colour in it, an' Sucksmith's mind began to feel a bit easier.
"Aw think its ommost gien ovver nah," he sed, but luk at mi hands! why they're like a piece o' scarlet cloath."
"Eea, an thi face is th' same; tha luks to me as if tha'd getten th' scarlet-fayvor, an' awm sure ther's summat nooan reight wi' thi; but wipe thisen an' come into tother hoil, ther's some o' thi mates thear, an' we'll see what they say."
Sucksmith did as he wor tell'd, an' went into tother raam with Musty, but ther wor sich a crack o' laffin as sooin as he showed his heead, wol they mud ha fell'd him wi' a bean. "Nah lads," sed Musty, "yo shouldn't laff at a chap's misfortunes, an' awm sure ther's Summat matter wi awr friend Sucksmith, aw tell him it must be th' scarlet fayvor.'
"Well aw niver saw sich a heead i' mi life," sed another, "but its nooan th' scarlet fayvor; my belief is its th' cattle plague, an if it is, an' th' police gets to know they'll have him shot, bi th' heart will they, for they've orders to destroy ivery livin thing 'at shows ony signs o' havin it. But whear has ta been to get it thinks ta?"
"Nay, awve been nowhere 'at aw know on," sed Sucksmith, "aw felt all reight a bit sin, an' aw ligg'd daan o' some sheets o' wool an' fell asleep, an' aw niver knew aw ail'd owt wol aw coom in here to wesh me."
"Why then it will be th' cattle plague, its nowt else, ther's a deal o' sheep had it lately; an' varry likely that's some o' ther wool 'at tha's been sleepin on. But ha does ta feel?"
"Oh, aw feel varry mich alike all ovver,—awm feeared its up we me ommost, an' this has come for a warnin, for aw havn't behaved misen reight latly. But if awm spared to get ovver this awl alter."
"Why tha luks as if tha'd awther getten a warnin or a warmin, bith color o' thi face," sed one, "but aw think tha'd do wi' a glass o' summat to cooil thi daan a bit,—a red Indian's a fooil to thi."
"It must be summat serious," sed another, "are ta th' same color all ovver?"
"Aw dooant know awm sure, an'. aw havn't strength to luk," he sed.
But one o'th' chaps roll'd up his briches slop to see; "Nay, thi leg is all reight." "Well," sed Musty, "tha knows it may be soa, for we've heeard tell o' th' fooit and maath desease, an' this may be th' heead an' hand complaint. But what do yo think it'll be th' best for him to do?"
"I shuild advise him to goa hooam at once, but if ony body should see him they'll varry likely tak him for a literary chap becoss he's so deeply red." "Well, whether they tak him for a little-hairy chap or net, he'll pass for a red hairy chap an' noa mistak," sed Hiram.
But Sucksmith fancied he felt soa waik wol he didn't think he'd be able to walk hooam, soa after all biddin him "gooid bye," for fear they mud niver see him agean an one chap axin him to be sure an' tell his first wife if he met her up aboon, 'at he'd getten wed to her sister, they sent him hooam in a cab.
"Nay fer sewer! Whativer wi ta say? An' whativer did their Margit say when shoo saw him? He must ha luk'd a pictur."
"Nay, aw dooant know what shoo sed, but ther wor a rare racket ith' hoil awl a-warrant thi. But th' gurt softheead stuck in it, 'at he wor poorly, an' as shoo saw he wornt sober shoo humoured him wi lettin him goa to bed. Next mornin he'd come to his senses a bit, soa shoo let him have sich a bit o' tongue as he hadn't had latly, for tha knows shoo's a glaid when shoo starts, for if awd to say quarter as mich to my felly as shoo says to him sometimes, he'd niver darken th' door agean. He began to see what a fooil they'd been makkin on him, an' he gate up intendin to goa to his wark, but when he saw hissen ith' seamin glass, he couldn't fashion, an' soa he began o' weshin hissen first i' cold watter an' then i' hot; but it wor what they call a fast color, an' he couldn't get it to stir do what he wod.
"What mun aw do, Margit?" he sed, when he'd swill'd his heead wi' hot watter wol it wor hauf boiled; "th' moor aw wesh it an' th' breeter it seems to get. If iver aw get all reight agean ther's somdy'll want a new suit o' clooas, but it'll be a wooden en."
"Hold thi noise, lumpheead," shoo sed, "an' get thi braikfast an awl see if aw connot do summat for thi. Aw expect it'll have to be scaar'd off."
Soa after th' braikfast shoo made him ligg daan o' th' hearthstooan, an' shoo gate some wire scale an' started o' scrubbin one side ov his head, as if shoo'd been polishin th' fender; but he couldn't stand that, an' he laup'd up, an' donced up an' daan th' hoil, sayin all sooarts o' awkward things.
"What the dickens are ta thinkin on," he sed, "does ta fancy awm made o' cast-iron?"
"Aw dooan't know what tha'rt made on, but aw know tha artn't made o'th' reight sooart o' stuff for a fayther ov a family to be made on; but if tha connot get it off thisen, an' tha weant let me, tha'll be forced to stop as tha art, that's all." An' away shoo flew aat o' th' haase and left him.
"Nay fer sewer! An' whativer did he do?"
Well, he set daan and studied a bit, then he sent for a doctor, net becoss he felt poorly, but becoss he wanted to know what to do to get it off. Soa th' doctor coom, an' they say he couldn't spaik for iver soa long, for laffin at him; an' he tell'd him he'd be monny a week befoor he gate reight, an' it wod have to wear off by degrees; but his hair, he sed, wod niver be reight, soa he mud as weel have it shaved off sooin as lat. Soa he sent for Timmy, th' barber, an' had it done, an' when his wife coom back, thear he wor set, lukkin for all th' world like a lot o' old clooas wi' a ball o' red seealin wax stuck at th' top; an' thear he is i'th' haase nah, whear he'll ha to stop wol his hair grows agean.
"Nay fer sewer! An does he niver goa aat?"
"Niver,—he did goa to th' door one day when Hiram's little lass went to borrow th' looaf tins, but shoo wor soa freetened, wol shoo ran hooam, an' her mother says shoo believes shoo's gooin to have soor een; mun, he's flaysome to luk at, an' th' child has niver been like hersen sin, an' shoo connot sleep ov a neet for dreamin abaat it."
"Nay fer sewer! An what says Musty?"
"Awve niver heeard what he's sed sin he lost his shop, but Sucksmith says he's noan gooin to let it rest, for he'll send 'em some law if it costs him a paand—An' Musty says he doesn't care ha sooin for he wod be sure ov a bit o' summat to ait if he wor sent daan th' rails—but aw think it'll get made up agean. But awve left yond child ith' creddle bi hersen, soa aw mun be off." Away shoo went an' Sally watched her aat o'th seet, an' then sank into a cheer, roll'd up her arms in her appron, stared into th' fire, an' sed, "Nay fer sewer! Well ov all!—Nay fer sewer!"