"Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow,
Leave things of the future to fate,
What's the use to anticipate sorrow?
Life's troubles come never too late.
If to hope over much be an error
'Tis one that the wise have preferred
And how often have hearts been in terror
Of evils that never occurred?"
Ther's summat for yo to think abaat, an let th' July sunshine enter into yor hearts. It'll help to chase away th' claads o' care, an maybe, buried hooaps may yet blossom into a harvest ov happiness an joy.
Fortun, they say knocks once at ivvery man's door, but varry oft th' man doesn't happen to be in, an i' that case he sends his dowter, but ther's nubdy getten a welcome for Miss Fortun, but once shoo gets in, shoo's a beggar to stick. Better try to mak friends wi th' old man.
Sarah's that agravatin' sometimes, wol aw feel as if it wod do me gooid to hav a reight swear at her—an' aw should do it, if it wornt for th' fact at awr Tom's wed a lass at has a uncle 'at's a deacon at a chapil, an' when a chaps respectably connected like that, aw think its as weel to be a bit careful ov his tawk.
Nah aw'll gie yo a' instance, awd had a five bob bet on wi' a chap called Uriah Lodge, it wor abaat hah mich a pig he wor baan to kill wod weigh when it wor dressed, an' aw won. Uriah promised to pay mi o' Sundy mornin', but insteead o' th' brass, ther coom'd a letter throo him to say 'at he'd been havin' a tawk wi' a district visitor abaat it, an this chap had soa convinced him o' th' evils o' bettin', 'at he'd decided at he wodn't pay me, for if he did it wod do violence to his conshuns, but if aw liked he'd send mi a fry o' pigs livver asteead. "Conshuns," aw sed, "it's mooar like at it'll do violence to his britches pockets, aw willn't have onny ov his muky pigs livver."
"What's to do nah," Sarah axed.
Soa aw tell'd her all abaat it, an ov cooarse aw expected at shoo'd side wi' me,—but noa, shoo sed,
"Awm sewer aw respect Uriah for th' cooarse he's pursuin', aw hooap it'll be a lesson to yo—what wor yo baan to do wi' th' brass?"
"Aw wor baan to buy a paand o' bacca wi' it," aw sed. Then shoo started abaat bettin', an' horse racin', an' smookin', an' aw dooant know what moor—yo'd a thowt aw wor th' warst chap i' all Maant Pleasant if yo'd heeard her: an' shoo ended up wi' sayin' 'at shoo wished awd be a bit mooar like a chap 'at lives next door to us called Martin Robertshaw.
"He doesn't bet," shoo sed, "he doesn't smook, hes a daycent gradely lad is Martin, he wor off at hawf past eight this mornin' daan to th' Sundy Schooil—yo'll nivver catch him drinkin' at public haases an' bettin' abaat deead pigs—his missis is a lucky woman if ivver ther wor one."
Its noa use i' th' world tawkin' to Sarah when shoo gets reight on, soa aw nivver spake a word wol shoo'd finished, an' then aw sed,
"Have yo finished yor sarmon, missis?"
"Yes," shoo went on, "it's noa gooid tawkin' to sich as yo, it's nobbut wastin' breeath, yo'll goa yor own gate aw expect i' spite o' all aw can say."
"Well," says I, "it's hawf past twelve, lets have us dinners for awm dry after this storm, an' as its a fine day we'll goa up to th' top o' Beacon Hill for a walk an' see th' view o' th' taan."
Soa we had us dinner an set off.
Beacon Hill's weel known i' Halifax, it soars up at th' bottom o' th' taan as bare an' bald as a duck egg; ther's norther a tree, nor a shrub, an' aw dooant think thers a blade o' grass that even a moke wod ait, unless it belanged to a Irishman an' wor hawf clammed. It lets th' east wind on to th' taan throo a hoil at one end, an it keeps th' mornin' sun off, an' hides th' evenin' mooin. It grows nowt nobbut stooans covered wi' sooit, an' smook throo th' gas haase hangs ovver it all day long like a claad. But up at th' top thers some stooan delves, an' a field or two whear they say reeal grass grows, an' i' support o' this noashun somdy's had th' cheek to turn hawf a dozen cows aght, an' let 'em pretend to graze,—of cooarse its all mak believe, for they mun gie th' poor brewts summat to ait beside, or else th' inspector for crewelty to annimals wod have been daan on em befoor nah.
It's a long gate up Beacon Hill—yo goa up New Bank an' ovver Godly Brig, in between th' Bloody Field an' Saint Joseph's Schooil, an' then reight up to th' top, an' if it wornt for th' fact at thears a gooid few public haases o'th road aw dooant think 'at Sarah wod ivver have getten to th' top at all; for shoo wor tuk bad wi' th' spasms jist at th' side o' th' Pine Apple, an shoo had attacks ivvery few minnits wol we gate to th' Albion, which is th' last licensed haase; but bi gooid luck they didn't coom on after that, for as thers noawhear to get her onny thing comfortin' if shoo'd been tuk agean, aw dooant know whativver aw should ha done.
Well, we gate to th' top at last, an' sat daan to luk at th' view. It's reight grand, an them at hasn't seen it should goa bi all means at once. Yo can see all ovver th' taan—monny a thaasand chimleys all smokin' at once, an' scoars o' mill's, an' ivvery nah an' then when th' wind blows th' reek away, yo can see th' Bastile as plain as owt.
As we wor sittin' daan to rest we heeard sumdy tawkin' jist ovver th' wall, soa we kept still a bit, an' varry sooin we heeard as mich cursin' an' swearin' as owt to have filled a faandry for a wick.
"Whativver is ther to do," sed Sarah, "lets have a luck?"
We gate up, an' went an' luk'd throo a hoil i' th' wall, an' thear daan in a bit ov a holler, soa 'at they couldn't be seen, wor abaat twenty gurt strappin' young fellers tossin' coppers.
We hadn't been lukkin' moor nor a minnit or two, when a man wi' a red beeard coom runnin' daan th' hill an' stopt abaat ten yards throo whear th' chaps wor laikin' at pitch an' toss, an' he started o' writin' summat daan in a book.
"Bobbies!" a chap shaated aght, an i' hawf a minnit ther wor nubdy to be seen, nobbut th' new comer, for ivvery one on 'em had hooked it as fast as if th' owd chap wor after 'em.
Then th' feller sammed up th' coppers, an' coom'd reight to whear we wor, an' climbed ovver th' wall. He wor laffin like owt. When he'd getten on to th' side whear we wor, he luk'd a bit surprised to see us, but he sed nowt—soa Sarah axd him if be wor a poleeceman, an' if he wor baan to report 'em at th' Taans Hall?
"Net aw," he sed, "awm noa bobby awm not, aw nobbut did it to flay 'em."
"But yo gate ther brass," aw sed.
"For sewer aw did," says he, "aw mak a day's wage at this trade ivvery Sundy, it's th' best payin' professhun aght—aw gate seventeen pence this mornin' at Ringby, an ther's eighteen pence here, that's three bob nobbut a penny. Last Sundy aw addled three an' ninepence, at Siddal an' Whitegate. Ther soa flayed if onnybody starts o' writin', 'at they hook it like a express train, for they think yor takkin ther names daan."
When he'd sed this he brust aght laffin agean, an' sed to me, "Dooant yo' knaw me?"
"Noa," aw sed, "but aw seem to knaw yor voice."
Then he ax'd Sarah if shoo didn't knaw him nawther?
"Aw've nivver clapt een on yo' befooar," Sarah sed.
He laft as if he wor baan to split for a bit, an' then he sed, "Luk here, but yo' munnot split," an' he pull'd off his gurt red beard, an' awm blow'd if it worn't Martin Robertshaw, th' chap 'at lives next door to us.
Aw wor soa capt yo' could ha' shoov'd him ovver wi' yor little finger, an' Sarah leaned up agean th' wall, an' aw thowt th' spasms wor comin' on agean; but aw wor mista'an, for they didn't, at least not wol we gate daan to th' Albion once mooar.
"Aw promised my missis a sewin' machine," Martin went on, "an' as brass is soa hard to addle just nah, aw've had to start i' this line, an' it pays weel to, an' ther's noa danger abaat it. A chap has to put his hand to owt nah days to earn a honest penny—aw doan't call it chaitin' to ease sich as yond on ther brass. But aw mun be off, aw've to goa daan to Shibden yet, an' bizness befoor pleashur's my motto. An' he run daan th' hill callin' aght 'at we worn't to tell his missis 'at we'd seen him.
"Nah then, lass," aw sed, "yo' wor sayin' a bit sin' 'at yo' wished aw wor a bit mooar like yon chap,—what do yo' say nah?"
"Well," Sarah sed, "aw willn't say at aw exactly approve ov his goins on, but onnyhah, yo'll admit at he's gettin' th' brass for a gooid purpose; aw tell'd yo' at his wife wor a lucky woman, an' aw stick to mi words."
"Then aw suppooas if awd sed aw wor baan to buy yo' a new bonnet wi' Uriah Lodge's five bob, it 'ud hey been awl reet?"
"Circumstances alters cases as th' sayin' says," Sarah went on, "but yo' wor baan to spend it i' baccy, an' aw shall still stick to what aw sed this morn, 'at bettin's reeal wicked; but coom on, for aw feel as if th' spasms wor comin' on mi agean, awm awl ov a tremmel, an' tawkin maks mi war."
So we went daan to th' Albion, an' then hooam.
We wor just gooin to bed that neet, when Missis Robertshaw coom in, to ax Sarah to lend her a rubbin bottle.
"Is somdy hurt?" Sarah ax'd.
"It's Martin," shoo sed, "he wor gooin daan to Shibden this afternooin, to visit one ov his Sundy skollards 'ats badly; an' he happened bi ill luck to coom on a reg'lar lot o' idle young fellers at wor laikin at pitch an' toss. Martin connot bide wickedness o' noa sooart, soa he stopt to tell 'em hah sinful gamblin' wor, 'specially on a Sundy, an' hah mich better for 'em it 'ud be, if they'd put ther hard-addled brass into th' Savins Bank, but asteead o' takkin his gooid advice, they set on him an' beat him black an blue, an' robbed him o' three bob 'at he had in his pockit, 'at had been subscribed for th' missionarys at th' Sundy skooil."
"Is he mich war?" aw axed.
"His Sundy coit's all tore to ribbons, an his ankles sprained; one o' his front teeth is knocked clean aght, an' his watch is gooan. Aw shall be only too thankful if he gets to his wark in a fortneet."
"Hev yo' telled th' perleece?" Sarah sed.
"Noa," shoo sed, "it wodn't be noa sooart o' use tellin' them chaps, they're too lazy to do owt nobbut draw ther wage,—besides, Martin's that forgivin', 'at he says he'd rayther suffer i' silence nor let onnybody be punished on his accant—but aw mun be off." An' shoo went aght wi' th' bottle.
"Ther's a deal o' humbug i' this world," Sarah sed, when th' woman wor gooan, "awm glad he's getten catched at last, aw mak nowt o' sich decaitful fowk, robbin' poor people o' ther brass,—it's little enuff 'at we can finger honestly nah a days. Aw've been wantin a new bonnet monny a week—Missis Lupton's getten one, an' shoo's getten a faal face to put inside ov it two, an aw dooant like to be bet bi a woman like that,—soa if yo' can get that five bob thro' Uriah, it'll come in handy. Aw've sed times an times agean, 'at them Lodges wor th' nearest fowk i' all Maant Pleasant, an' fowk owt to pay ther debts, whether it's bettin or whether it isn't."
"Aw'll see him to morn."
"That's reight, lad, do, an' let's goa to bed nah, for we shall have a rare gas nooat this quarter if we sit up like this."
Aw'll nivver get druffen noa mooar,
It's th' last time is this, an that's trew,—
For mi booans is all shakkin an sooar,
Throo th' craan o' mi hat, to mi shoe.
An mi skin, it's all cover'd wi' marks,
Some's blue, an some's black, an some's red;
Yo connot think ha mi heead warks,
An it feels just as heavy as lead.
Aw connot tell ha' aw gate fresh,
For aw didn't sup ovver mich drink,—
It's mi stummack 'at's weakly, aw guess,
It couldn't be nowt else aw' think,
For aw'd nobbut a gallon o' beer,
A couple o' whiskeys,—a rum,—
Happen two—for awm net varry clear
Hah monny—aw knaw aw hed some.
That's all, tho' aw'd happen a drop
Lat on, 'at aw knaw nowt abaat;
For th' lanlord he tell'd mi to stop,
When th' brass i' mi pocket runn'd aght,
Aw remember beein chuckt into th' street
At cloisin time, nothin noa mooar,—
An mi mates set mi up o' mi feet,
An propt me agean a hasse door.
All th' rest o' last neet is a blank,
Aw wonder who put mi to bed?
Awm sewer aw dooant knaw who to thank,
An aw connot reet think, for mi head—
Besides aw feel terrible sick,—
This drinkin, it isn't all bliss;
Aw expect aw'st be seedy a wick,
It's towt mi a lesson 'as this.
They tell me 'at in Orstralia they have Kursmas Day in th' middle o' summer,—aw dooant knaw whether it's trew or net, for someha' them 'at's been i' furrin pairts are varry mich addicted to th' practiss o' tellin lies,—but if they hey ther Kursmiss i' summer, all aw con say is, 'at it's a mistak; ov cooarse furriners can do as they like, but it allus seems to me at th' best ov Kursmiss is at it cooms i'th middle o' winter to cheer poor fowks' hearts when th' days is dark an gloomy. It's a wonderful time is Kursmiss—all th' shops as ther winders dressed aght wi' th' best things they hev, to mak a show, an gas leets shinin all up an daan, an ther's geese an turkeys hangin up aghtside,—an yo' see ivverybody lukkin as gooid humoured as if they'd getten some brass gi'en.
Aw know nowt mooar pleasant nor to goa throo th' markits on th' neet befoor Kursmiss, an luk at th' stawls an th' smilin faces all up an daan.
Aw heeard a bit ov a stoary abaat Kursmiss a bit sin' 'at aw'll tell yo.
Ther wor a young lad at Dewsbury an he wor varry fond o' gooid aitin,—it's net a varry uncommon complaint amang lads,—but this chap wor mooar nor usual fond o' gooid things, an if ivver he gate hold ov onny brass, he allus used to spend it awther at a pie shop, or on fish fried wi' chipt puttates, or some other daintes o' that sooart.
It wor Kursmiss Eve last year, an he'd getten howd o' some copper bi sweepin snaw off th' doorstuns for th' nabers, soa after he'd hed his teah, he set off to fill hissen full o' summat tasty.
"Aw'll ha' summat reeal gooid to-neet," he sed, "as it's Kursmiss time."
He lukt into shops at tarts, an penny ducks, an blood puddins, an all sooarts o' things; but he'd hed them all monny a time, an he wanted summat fresh.
At last he went into th' markit place, an after he'd luk'd raand, wi' th' brass fair burnin a hoil in his pocket for want o' spendin, he coom to a stawl whear a chap wor shaatin aght:
"Hoisters! reeal natives! a penny apiece!"
Nah he'd nivver tasted a hoister i' all his life, it wor summat new, soa he went up to th' chap an axt for one.
Th' man gate hold o' one an started o' oppenin it wi' his knife, but th' lad sed—
"Howd on, aw say, that's a varry little en, aw want a reight daan big un—th' biggest one yo' hev i'th place."
"If yo' want a reight big un," th' man sed, "aw con sewt yo' up to th' mark," an he went behund th' stawl, an in a hawf minnit he coom back wi' one abaat as big as a pan lid. It wor oppened, an th' fish wor liggin on th' shell i'th center, abaat three inches across.
"Will this sewt yo'," he sed.
"That'll do," th' lad sed, "aw like a fair sized un."
He put some pepper an vinegar on it, an handed it to th' lad an sed, "Aw dooant think yo' can manage it, sir."
He nivver spake, but tuk th' shell in his hand, an oppen'd his maath an sukt it in. He'd to try two or three times befoor it went daan his throit, an it nearly choakt him, but at last it went.
"Aw've done it," he sed wi' tears in his een, "Hah mich is ther to pay?"
"Nah, aw willn't mak noa charge," th' man answered, "yo've done weel, aw didn't think yo' could ha' managed it, ther's three fowk tried at that hoister to-neet, an a dog beside, but it lickt 'em all."
Th' lad turned away, an slipt behind a row o' stawls, an aw willn't say onny mooar abaat what happened after.
Chairley Dempster wor nobbut a little chap but he'd a varry big opinion ov hissen. He'd consait enuff for hawf a duzzen. His mother wor a widdy an he wor th' only child shoo'd ivver had an shoo set a deeal o' stoor on him, an firmly believed at ther wornt another at wor fit to hold th' cannel to him.
Noa daat this accanted for him havin sich a gooid opinion ov hissen. They wornt varry weel to do, for when her husband deed, he'd nowt he could leeav her except th' bit o' furnitur an th' babby.
Fowk thowt shoo'd be wed agean, but they wor mistaen. If it hadn't been for havin Chairley happen shoo wod ha done, for shoo wor young an strong, an varry gooidlukkin i'th bargain' an lots o' chaps wod ha thowt thersen lucky if they could ha 'ticed her to buckle on wi 'em. But shoo kept em all at a distance, an managed, wi weshin an cleeanin for fowk, to mak as mich as kept her an her lad.
Shoo spoilt him, as wor to be expected, an denied hersen lots o' things shoo badly needed to keep him weel donned, an shoo wor nivver as praad as when shoo heeard somdy say at he lukt 'like a little gentleman.'
Shoo kept him at Schooil wol he wor fourteen, an he didn't shame his taichers, an when he left he wor cliverer nor mooast lads ov his age.
Dooant run away wi th' idea at he wor a fine young gentleman, for he wor nobbut a country lad, for he'd been browt up in a country place amang country fowk, but he wor one o'th better sooart, an amang th' naybors wor considered a bit ov a swell.
What trade to put him to bothered his mother aboon o' bit. Shoo could ha liked to ha made him into a doctor or a parson, or shoo wodn't have objected to startin him as th' president ov a bank, but sich things cost brass an shoo wor varry poor. He could ha liked to ha been a sowger, but he worn't big enuff, an sailerin didn't suit his stummack. At last he had to be content to get into a grocer's shop as a lad abaat, and he wor sixteen bi this time.
Th' maister sooin tuk a fancy to him, for he worked hard an steady, an befoor he'd been thear a month he wor put behind th' caanter to wait on customers. His mother wor ovverjoyed at this, an altho shoo wornt one o'th biggest or best customers, ther wor nubdy went ofter to th' shop. If shoo nobbut wanted two articles shoo went twice for em, an shoo wor nivver in a hurry to get sarved, for the biggest pleasur shoo'd ivver known wor to watch Chairley deal aght punds o' sewgar an cakes o' sooap.
But ther's noa pleasur i' this world at isn't mixt wi some pain, an it wor soa i' her case. One day as shoo wor watchin him sarve a lass wi a rasher o' bacon, an saw th' way he smiled at her an shoo tittered back at him, struck her for th' furst time, at th' day might come when he'd be somdy else's Chairley, an shoo'd hay to tak a back seeat.
When shoo went hooam shoo could think abaat nowt else, an shoo set studyin abaat it soa long, at when he coom hooam to his supper ther wor nowt ready for him, an th' foir wor aght.
"What's to do, mother?" he sed, "arn't yo weel or have yo nobbut just getten hooam?"
"A'a, lad," shoo sed,—lukkin raand suspiciously, as if shoo wor feeard he'd browt some lass wi him,—"aw dooant know what's to do. Aw just set me daan to think a bit at time's flown by withaat me nooaticin it. Has ta come straight hooam?"
"Hi,—aw allus coom straight hooam when mi wark's done."
"An did ta coom bi thisen all th' way?"
"Ov coorse aw coom bi misen. Did yo want me to fotch somdy wi mi?"
"Nay, lad. Aw hooap that day's far distant when tha'll bring onnybody here to tak thi mother's place. Who wor that forrad young thing at tha wor sellin that rasher o' bacon to when aw wor i'th shop?"
"Aw nobbut know her furst name. They call her Minnie, shoo's a sarvent at that big haase at th' street corner."
"Minnie, do they call her? aw think Ninny wod be a name to suit her better. Aw nivver saw her befoor i' mi life, but shoo's noa gooid, aw saw that as sooin as aw clapt mi een on her. Aw hooap tha'll mind what tha'rt dooin an have noa truck wi sichlike."
"Why, mother, aw've allus thowt her a varry gooid lass, an awm sewer shoo's a bonny en."
"That's just whear it is. They allus are bonny are sich like as her. But next time shoo cooms into th' shop just order her off abaat her business. An see at tha does as aw tell thi. Shoo can get what shoo wants at another shop at's nearer their haase. Its nooan yor bacon shoo wants;—its thee shoo's after, but tha'rt sich a ninnyhammer at tha can't see it."
"Yo must know, mother, 'at aw can't order her aght o'th shop. Awm sewer shoo thinks nowt abaat me. Ther's nooan sich luck. Shoo's older nor me bi ivver soa mich, an shoo could have onny chap i'th street if shoo'd to put her finger up. Awm sewer aw dooant know what's put sich a nooation into yor heead. But aw'll have mi supper if its ready."
"Come thi ways;—awm sooary aw've kept thi waitin, but tuk it into thi. Tha'll get moor gooid aght o' that nor sich as her. Ther owt to be a law to punish sichlike."
Chairley sed nowt noa moor, but he thowt a lot. To tell trewth, sich thowts had nivver befoor entered into his heead. An if his mother had nivver sed owt abaat it, it's possible they nivver wod. It wor Setterdy neet, an as he wor anxious to be up i' gooid time at Sundy, he sed, "Gooid neet," an went to bed. For th' furst time in his life he tossed an roll'd abaat, an couldn't fall asleep. His mother had put that lass into his heead an he couldn't get her aght. He'd allus thowt her a nice lass, but he'd nivver known ha bonny shoo wor till then.
"A'a!" he sighed, "awd goa throo foir an watter for sich a lass as her."
An th' upshot on it wor, at when at last he did fall asleep, it wor to dream at he'd wed an angel just like her, an he wakkened to find th' bolster cuddled up in his arms. Sundy passed someway, but nawther schooil nor sarmon did him onny gooid. Unconsciously he'd set up an idol an wor worshippin it wi all th' strength ov his young heart.
As he went to his wark next mornin, he happened to catch th' seet ov hissen as he passed a shop winder, an for th' furst time he felt ha little he wor.
Ommost fust customer to enter th' shop wor Minnie. Shoo wanted a duzzen fresh eggs. Chairley's face went as red as a pickled cabbage, an when he went to get em his hands tremeled soa at he smashed two.
"Oh, what a pity," sed Minnie.
"Oh, net at all, awm quite used to it," he stammered. Then Minnie stared at him an laft, an he tried to laff to, an one oth' shop lads gave a guffaw an this soa nettled Chairley 'at he samd th' bag wi th' eggs in an sent it flyin at his heead, an gave it sich a crack at th' bag wor brussen, an th' eggs all smashed wor sylin daan throo his heead to his feet, an just then th' maister walked in.
Minnie stood stupified an Chairley seized his hat an ran aght at th' back door. Wol th' lad wor splutterin an slobberin, an th' maister doncin mad, Minnie slipt aght an bowt her eggs at another shop. But shoo couldn't get Chairley aght of her mind. Shoo'd allus admired him, an thowt what a gooid husband he'd mak for somdy when he gate a bit older; an nah shoo saw as plainly as could be ha matters stood, an guessed as near trewth as if Chairley had tell'd her all abaat it.
It wor lat on ith' day when Chairley slunk into th' shop, an th' maister mooationed for him to step into th' private office. What tuk place aw dooan't exactly know, but when they coom aght Chairley lukt varry warm, an th' maister had a grin on his face at wor a gooid sign.
Three or four days passed, an Minnie nivver entered that shop. Chairley tried to feel thankful, for he didn't know ha to face her, an yet he wor miserable, for he felt as if he couldn't live withaat her.
Just as he wor turnin th' corner oth' street on his way hooam,—it wor ommost dark an he wor in a varry low kay;—a voice cloise to him sed, "What's the price of fresh eggs to-day, Chairley?"
Chairley felt like jumpin aght ov his skin, as he turned raand an saw Minnie, laffin all ovver her face an lukkin moor bewitchinly bonny nor ivver.
"A'a, Minnie! Miss Minnie, aw meean;—Aw have to beg yo pardon. Aw'll nivver do it agean as long as aw live. Will yo forgie me this time, an coom to th' shop as usual?"
"Has the shop-boy forgiven you?"
"Aw care nowt abaat him."
"But the master?"
"Oh' he's all reight, but when aw gate to know who yo wor, they could ha fell'd me wi a feather."
Minnie had stept back into th' shadder oth' porch an wor sittin on th' step. Chairley wor ith' shadder o'th' porch too. All wor varry quiet for a long time an when th' mooin peept aght an sent a mild soft leet into that same porch, it showed a couple sittin varry cloise together.
When Chairley went hooam that neet, he wor th' mooast important chap, in his own estimation, at lived i' that taan. His mother had been uneasy for th' past few days, for shoo saw ther wor summat wrang, an shoo nooaticed th' change in him as sooin as he went in. "Has things gooan reight wi thi to-day, Chairley?" shoo ventured to ax him.
"Nivver better, Mother;—Nivver better!"
But shoo felt sewer ther wor summat undernaith, an shoo wor detarmined to find it aght. Shoo knew at Chairley wodn't be at th' shop next mornin, as it wor his day to goa seekin orders, soa shoo waited till he'd getten off, an then shoo went to see his maister.
"Come this way, Mrs. Dempster," he sed when he saw her, "what can we do for you this morning?"
"Aw wanted to spaik to yo if yo pleeas. Awd like to know if my son has been havin onny trubble latly?"
"Well, my dear Madam, troubles come to all on us at times. I dare say Charley has had a little trouble,—just a minimum."
"Aw mud ha known it! But if yond Minnie doesn't let my lad alooan aw'll mak this taan too hot for her. Shoo owt to be smoored an all sichlike."
"Excuse me, Mrs. Dempster, but if you are alluding to my niece Minnie, I must ask you to speak with more respect, for she is as good as she is good-looking, and that is saying a great deal."
"Yo dooan't meean to say shoo's yor neese sewerly."
"She is my niece and your boy's sweetheart. They were engaged last night with my full consent, and a nice young couple they are. If all goes well, they are to be married when Charley comes of age, and will then succeed me in this business."
"Laws-a-mercy on us! Well,—well. An a nice lass shoo is too," an off shoo set to think things ovver agean.
Shoo nivver agean interfered wi his coortin. They're wed nah. Shoo lives wi em, but shoo can't understand why they allus laff if shoo sets em fresh eggs for ther braikfast.
One Friday neet last summer, ther wor a braik daan at th' shop 'at Dick Taylor worked at, just befoor stoppin time, soa th' ovverlukker telled him 'at it wor noa use his comin i'th mornin, as they wodn't be able to start th' engine agean wol Mundy.
Dick worn't sorry, for it wor fine weather, an' he thowt a day's halliday ud be varry pleasant. When he gate hooam, he telled his missis 'at he wor baan to laik th' next day, an' shoo sed,
"Naah, Dick, ther's a chonce for yo to pleeas me—yo know aw've axed yo all th' summer to tak me raand to see th' parks i' Bradforth, for aw've nivver seen one on em, exceptin Lister's, an' that's becoss it's soa near—they tell me 'at th' flaars i' Peel's park, an' up at Horton, are reeal beautiful."
"We'll goa, Mary," Dick sed, "an' up to Bowlin Park too."
Shoo gave him a kuss, an' gate him his teah, an' let him keep a shillin aght o' his wage, to get some cigars wi' for him to smook when they wor aght th' next day. After braikfast i'th mornin they set off.
They lived near th' Stashun at Manningham, in a haase off Valley Road, soa they cut across, an' ovver th' canal, an' up bi Spinkwell, into th' main road for Peel Park. It wor varry hot, soa bi th' time they gate into th' park, an' lukt at th' flaar beds daan bi th' lake, an' climbed up on to th' terrace, they wor varry glad to sit daan on a seeat near to whear th' band stand is.
Ther's a grand view thro' thear, yo can see reight ovver Bradforth as far as Lister's Milns, an' Queensbury—th' sun wor shinin, an' Dick wor just leetin one o'th cigars when a young man abaat two or three an' twenty coom daan th' walk, huggin' a basket—when he seed em he stopt, an' sed:—
"Can yo give me a match, mate?"
"Eah," Dick sed, "hear's a box, help thisen,"—when he'd leeted his pipe, Mary sed, "This is a varry nice park, sir."
"I," he answered, "an' it's a nice place for coortin in, on a neet when th' band isn't playin—you cannot coom here ov a evenin withaat findin abaat hawf a scooar o' cupples—yo see it's net too near th' taan, wol it's nice an' quiet—but it's net too lonely nawther, a decent lass can coom here wi' her sweetheart, an' nawther her mother nor nubdy else can say owt agean it, for ther's allus somdy awther commin or gooin."
"Yo seem to know it well?" Dick sed to th' young feller.
He wor nobbut a ugly chap, but when Dick sed this, he smiled wol he wor nearly nice lukkin, an' his een twinkled wi' fun, as he sed,
"Aw should think aw do know it, an' aboon a bit too, why aw wor rewinated net hawf a yard thro' whear yor missis is sittin."
Mary jumped up as if th' seat wor baan to bite her, an' her nelly tummeld reight thro' th' railin, an' ligged among th' shrubs on the slope abaat ten feet below.
When th' young feller seed that, he fair skriked aght wi' laffin, but befoor Dick could do owt, he wor ovver th' railin, an had getten her umberel up agean.
"It wor a nelly tumblin daan like that at did for me," says he, "but aw see yor maized, soa aw'll tell yo all abaat it;" soa he sat daan on th' seat beside me, an' he began.
"When aw furst coom a workin to Bradforth, abaat three year sin, aw lodged wi' a young feller 'at lived i' Otley Road—we slept i'th same room; an' one Sundy mornin as we wor dressin, aw sed to him, 'at aw wor flayed aw should have to buy a new pair o' Sundy britches, for them aw hed getten wor wore varry shabby.
"'Aw'll sell yo a pair,' he sed; an' he pulled a pair aght ov a box, 'aw bowt em off th' pegs, an' gave fifteen bob for em, noa mooar nor a year sin—but aw nivver liked em—aw wor em when mi sister wor wed, an when aw went to Blackpool for a wick last July, an' that's all, yo shall have em for eight bob, an it's a bargain sich as yo willn't get ivvery day.'
"They wor reeal smart traasers, an' to mak a long stooary short, aw bowt em; an' that evenin, aw wor gooin aght a walkin wi' a lass 'at aw knew, soa aw wore em to luk smart like. Aw wor thinner then than aw am nah, for aw've filled aght a bit sin aw wor wed; but this chap 'at aw bowt em off, wor hawf as fat agean as aw wor, a reglar porker, fit for killin; an' when aw coom to put th' britches on, aw fun aght, 'at they wor ivver soa mich to wide for me raand th' waist—that worn't th' warst o' it, for aw fun aght also 'at fower aght o'th six gallus buttons wor off—but aw hadn't time to sew onnymooar on, soa wi' a bit a bother aw made em do.
"Well, aw set off wi' th' new traasers on—it's trew 'at they wor hitched up that high 'at aw worn't a bit comfortable, an' ther wor as mich room in em as wod nearly have done for two like me, but as me tail coit hid it aw didn't mind that, an' aw felt a reeal swell, aw can tell yo, for they wor th' leetest coloured pair 'at ivver awd ivver had i' my life. Amy wor waitin o' me, an' we walked daan here to Peel's Park, an' sat on this varry seeat."
"Awm gettin varry interested," Mary sed, when he stopt to leet his pipe 'at had gooan aght, "goa on wi' yor tale."
He puffed away for a minnit, an then went on:—"Someha or other Amy's nelly slipt in between th' railins like yor's did a bit sin, an aw wor ovver th' fence after it like a shot,—but when aw wor climbin up agean, my golly, if one o'th two remainin buttons didn't snap cleean off, aw think th' thread mun ha' been as rotten as apples,—luckily aw wor just on th' top o'th rail, or aw dooan't knaw what aw should ha done, but aw managed to get on to th' seat, an thear aw sat."
Mary an Dick booath started o' laffin, an Dick sed, "Well, an ha did yo' goa on?"
"It wor noa laffin matter for me aw con tell yo',—it wor summer time, an not dark wol nearly ten o'clock, an it wor nobbut eight then. Amy faand aght in a minnit 'at summat wor wrang, but shoo sed nowt, an aw kept it quiet as long as aw could, wishin at th' sun 'ud luk sharp an goa daan, but asteead o' that, it seemed to me 'at it wor gooin higher up ivvery minnit. Soa when shoo'd sed at shoo wor chilly, an wanted to walk a bit, abaat hawf a duzzen times, aw wor forced to tell her th' truth. Aw expected shoo'd a made fun o' me, but shoo didn't; shoo lukked reeal consarned abaat it, an sed shoo wor varry sorry for th' mishap, but we'd stop whear we wor till it wor dark. Soa we sat thear for a bit, an then shoo sed,
"'It ud be a deeal better for yo if yo hed sumdy to luk after yor clooas far yo.'
"Mi mother lives up at Keighley," aw sed, "an it's soa far shoo connot, an th' lanlady's hawf blind."
"'Well,' Amy went on, 'but if yo'd hed a wife, shoo'd do all sich things as that for yo.'
"Someha' or other mi arm slipt raand her waist, an aw willn't tell yo' noa mooar; long befoor th' sun hed set, an it went daan sooin enuff nah, it wor all sattled."
"'All's weel at ends weel,'" Dick sed.
"Eeah," th' young feller sed, "but aw'll tak mi solem Alfred Davey 'at when aw put them thear britches on, aw'd noa mooar thowts o' bein wed, nor aw hed o' be in hang'd. Aw'd nobbut gooan aght walkin wi' Amy to pass th' time away, as young fellers will do."
"Awm sewer aw hooap shoo's made yo a gooid wife," sed Mary.
"Nivver a chap hed a better wife i' all th' world nor aw hev," sed he, "but yo' shall coom in an see her, we live i' them haases at th' end o'th Corperashun Quarries daan thear. Coom on."
Dick explained 'at they wor gooin to see th' other Parks, but he wodn't ha' noa refusal.
"Yo' con goa to-morn to Horton,—coom on, an me an Amy 'll goa wi' yo' to Bowlin Park this afternooin, we've nivver been sin it wor oppened."
He wor soa pressin 'at they went an hed ther drinkins wi him an Amy,—an he show'd 'em th' britches 'at hed been the cause ov it all. They went to Bowlin i'th afternooin, an sin' then they've oftens had a bit ov a aght together.