From the Author’s series of Yorkshire Sketches.

‘What is ’t, mun?’

‘It’s t’ b’loon.’

‘Is ’t t’ thing ’at tha gan up inti t’ sky wiv?’

‘Aye.’

‘Hoo deea tha mannish ’t?’

‘Naay, that licks ma; bud it gans up leyke all that.’

‘What’s ho’ding ’t up noo?’

‘Ah deean’t reetlings knaw. Ah ax’d t’ chap ’at awns ’t, an’ he tell’d ma ’at it war thrussen up wi’ gas.’

‘Aye, an’ what did thoo saay ti that?’

‘Whya, Ah tell’d him ’at Ah’d cutten my back teeth.’

‘An’ what did he saay then?’

‘Nowt; he nobbut ax’d ma if Ah’d leyke ti gan up wiv him, an’ Ah tell’d him ’at he wadn’t catch me sailing thruff t’ cloods sitting on t’ top ov a gert blether, an’ he did nowt bud laugh at ma.’

‘Ah didn’t knaw ’at tha sat on t’ top; Ah awlus thowt ’at tha gat insahd t’ b’loon. Bud Ah deean’t see hoo tha’d git inteea ’t. Ah’s t’ maist capped ti knaw what ho’ds ’t up.’

‘Aye, bud what diz ta mak on ’t gahin up byv itsen, when tha let it off?’

‘Ah deean’t knaw, that’s a capper. An’ thoo sez ’at it gans up leyke all that?’

‘Seea fau’k saay. Think on, Ah’ve nivver seen yan git awaay wiv itsen.’

‘Ah saay, efter tha’ve gitten ’t up, hoo deea tha mannish ti fetch ’t doon agaan?’

‘Ah nivver thowt o’ that. Ah wunner hoo tha deea deea ’t. Bud Ah s’u’d think ’at tha mebbe fling a roap oot an’ swarm doon ’t.’

‘Mebbe, bud Ah’s leathered ti knaw what ho’ds ’t up.’

‘Whya, Ah s’u’d think ’at ther’s mebbe a chap insahd ho’ding it up wiv a powl’ (pole).

‘Aye, mebbe seea; Ah nivver thowt o’ that. What’s that thing; is ’t a bee-skep?’

‘It leeaks despert leyke yan.’

‘It’s a varra gert un. Mah wo’d, what a swarm it wad ho’d.’

‘Sitha, mun! if tha ar’n’t tying t’ bee-skep ti t’ b’loon; an’ ther’s a lass gitting insahd.’

‘Ther is, hooivver. Ah nivver seed sike a thing i’ mah leyfe; it waggles aboot sairly.’

‘Leeaks, ta! Ther’s a chap gitting in noo; depend on ’t, tha’re foor off.’

‘Tha’re larl better ’an tweea feeals. Ah wadn’t leeave t’ grund tied tiv a thing leyke that; neea, nut foor a ransom.’

‘Whativver are tha efter noo?’

‘Ah caan’t mak oot.’

‘Bless mah leyfe, tha’re lowsing t’ thing.’

‘Tha are, hooivver. Tha’re gahin’ ti let it off.’

‘Ther’s na doot aboot it.’

‘Well, ov all t’ crack-brained undertakkings ’at ivver Ah’ve clap’d mah een on, this carrying on licks au’d Mother Shipton.’

‘T’ Queen owtn’t ti ’low this.’

‘Sitha, tha’re gahin’ up.’

‘Sha owtn’t. It’s nut reet, a-gahin’ on leyke this; neeabody ’ez onny reet ti start foor heaven, owther insahd or ootsahd a b’loon, wivoot tha’ve deed fo’st. It’s warse ’an t’ tooer o’ Babel.’

‘It seeams ti gan stiddy, Ah will saay that.’

‘That’s nowt; tha’re nut i’ t’ reet on ’t.’

‘Tha’ll ’ev a gran view, onny road.’

‘Thoo dizn’t meean ti saay, John, ’at thoo’d leyke ti gan, diz ta?’

‘Whya, mebbe Ah wad! sha’s a neycish leeaking lass.’

‘Whya, then, Ah’ll tell tha what, if ivver Ah catch thee gahin’ inti t’ cloods, dengling belaw a b’loon iv a bee-skep wiv a straange lass, thoo’d better stop up wiv her altigither, foor thoo’ll ’a’e larl peace if thoo ivver darr’s ti cum doon agaan. Beear i’ mahnd, noo, when thoo leeaves ma for t’ cloods, it’ll ’a’e ti be ez an angel, or thoo’ll rue ’t.’

Mrs. Waddleton travels by train for the first time to see her daughter, residing at Whitby, to whom she gives a full description of her journey.

Whya, noo, Ah’ll tell tha all aboot it reet away fra t’ starting. Thoo knaws Ah went ti what they call t’ station, an’ Ah seed a young chap stannin’ at t’ back ov a thing leyke a ratten trap, an’ Ah sez tiv him, ‘Noo, then, what’s thoo been efter ti git thisen stuckken theer foor?’ An’ he sez, ‘Naay, nowt; Ah’s nobbut here ti sell t’ tickets, that’s all.’ ‘Oh, whya,’ sez Ah, ‘if that’s all, let’s be ’evving ho’d o’ yan.’ An’ he sez ti me, ‘All reet, wheear are ya gahin’?’ ‘Stop a bit,’ sez Ah; ’that’s neea business o’ thahn.’ ‘Whya,’ sez he, ‘Ah caan’t gi’e ya a ticket if ya deean’t tell uz wheear ya gahin’ tul.’ ‘Well,’ sez Ah, ‘Ah s’all deea nowt o’ t’ sort; an’ if Ah’ve onny mair o’ thi impidence, Ah’ll tak tha byv t’ hair o’ thi heead an’ Ah’ll pull tha thruff t’ larl hoal—that’s what Ah’ll deea.’ An’ then a young lady cam up, an’ sha sez, ‘If Ah war yow, Ah’d tell t’ young chap wheear ya’re gahin’ tul, an’ it’ll mense things up a bit, an’ ya’ll git yer ticket an’ git awaay neycely.’ ‘All reet,’ sez Ah. ‘Noo, then, cu’ thi waays back, impidence; Ah’s gahin’ ti Whidby ti see my dowter. Sha lives on t’ cliff, an’ sha’s gitten a pianner, an’ bowt a pig, an’—— ’ ‘Naay, what!’ sez he; ‘Ah deean’t want ti knaw all t’ family history, hooivver.’ ‘Well,’ sez Ah, ’thoo seeam’d that ’quisitive aboot it, ’at Ah thowt Ah’d best tell tha t’ lot whahl Ah war at it.’ ‘Whya, noo then,’ sez he, ’theear’s yer ticket, an’ it’s yan an’ fow’pence.’ ‘Whya,’ sez Ah, ’thoo needn’t be seea chuff aboot it; theer’s thi yan an’ fow’pence.’ ‘That’s reet,’ sez he; ‘an’ ya mun tak care on ’t.’ ‘Thoo gert dunder-nowle!’ sez Ah; ‘Ah’s nut gahin’ ti fling ’t awaay when Ah git ootsahd. Ah s’all tak care on ’t ti t’ end o’ mah daays.’ ‘Naay,’ sez he, ‘bud ya weean’t.’ ‘What foor?’ sez Ah. ‘‘Coz theer’s a chap ’at t’ tother end ’ll want it.’ ‘Oh, is theer?’ sez Ah; ‘whya, then, he weean’t git it.’ ‘He’ll tak it fra ya,’ sez he. ‘Nut if he’s leyke what thoo is,’ sez Ah, ‘or hauf a dozen on ’em.’ An’ then Ah went ootsahd, on ti what tha call t’ platform. ‘Noo, then,’ sez Ah, ‘is this t’ traan thing?’ An’ a porter chap sez, ‘Aye, that’s it.’ ‘Oh! an’ wheer’s t’ hoss?’ sez Ah. ‘What hoss?’ sez he. ‘Whya, t’ hoss ’at’s gahin’ ti drag t’ thing ti Whidby?’ ‘Bud,’ sez he, ‘it dizn’t gan wiv a hoss.’ ‘Then what diz it gan wiv?’ sez Ah. ‘Whya, that thing ’at’s at t’ front end on ’t.’ ‘Hoo can a thing leyke yon knaw t’ road ti Whidby? Ger away wi’ tha.’ ‘Oh,’ sez he, ‘ya’re gahin’ ti Whidby, are ya?’ ‘Ah is,’ sez Ah; an’ wi’ that he gat at t’ back o’ mah, an’ afore Ah knew wheer Ah war, Ah war hauf lifted an’ hauf thrussen inti ti carridge. An’ ther war nowt bud a young chap sitting up i’ t’ far corner; an’ Ah sez tiv him, ‘Ah, saay, ’ev yow ivver been iv a train afoor?’ ‘Aye, monny a tahm,’ sez he. ‘Is this all reet?’ sez Ah. ‘Aye, it’s reet eneeaf,’ sez he. An’ seea Ah sat ma doon. Ah thowt it ’ud be seea neyce ti leeak oot o’ t’ winder an’ see Tom Robison’s coddy fooals an’ John Williams’s pigs, bud it’s ez trew ez Ah’s sitting byv thi fire-sahd, t’ fo’st thing ’at Ah seed war a chetch run reet across a field, an’ t’ next minit ther war tweea coos, three pigs, a man, an’ a haystack flew past that quick, whahl ya c’u’dn’t keep yer e’es on ’em at all, an’ then ivverything went ez pick dark ez neet. ‘Noo, then,’ Ah shooted, ‘what’s up noo?’ ‘Naay, nowt,’ sez he; ‘wa’ve nobbut gane insahd ov a funnel, that’s all.’ ‘Insahd ov a funnel!’ sez Ah; ’then s’all wa be dragged oot o’ t’ narrer end on ’t?’ ‘Noo, it’s all reet,’ sez he. ‘Ah deean’t knaw sae mich aboot its being all reet,’ sez Ah. ‘Ah’ve neea reet ti be locked up i’ t’ dark wiv a young chap ’at Ah’ve nivver seen afoor.’ ‘Whya, noo, sit ya still,’ sez he; ‘Ah isn’t gahin’ ti mell on ya.’ ‘Thoo’d better nut,’ sez Ah, ‘or else tho’ll git thi hair combed foor nowt.’ An’ then wa flew inti dayleet, afoor Ah knew wheer Ah war. Efter a bit wa began ti slack up a piece. ‘Noo, then,’ sez Ah, ‘what’s up noo?’ ‘Nowt,’ sez he; ‘wa’ve nobbut gitten ti Whidby, that’s all.’ ‘Oh! well,’ sez Ah, ‘if that’s all, that’s wheear Ah want ti be.’ An’ Ah oppen’d t’ deear an’ stepped oot, an’ afoor Ah knew wheer Ah war, Ah war laid flat o’ mah back on t’ platform. When Ah’d gitten mysen upended agaan, Ah seed a chap at t’ far end o’ t’ station clicking ther tickets frev ’em leyke all that, an’ Ah thowt ti mysen, ‘Thoo’ll finnd thisen wrang when Ah cum up.’ Hooivver, he nobbut tried ti git hauf o’ mahn, an’ seea it didn’t matter; bud Ah’ve ta’en ’em in, foor all that. Ah wadn’t ’a’e deean ’t if they’d nobbut behaved thersens, bud tha didn’t, chucking yan in an’ potching yan oot. What diz ta saay, thoo wants ti knaw hoo Ah’ve mannished ti tak ’em in? Whya, noo, Ah’ll tell tha—Ah’ve bowt a return ticket, an’ Ah isn’t gahin’ back. Tha caan’t git t’ best o’ me.

A Sketch. One of the ‘Waddleton’ series, by the Author.

Mrs. Waddleton goes to Stockton Races, and her friend Mrs. Bubbles is told all about it.

Sit tha doon, Mary, an’ Ah’ll tell tha all aboot it reet awaay fra t’ starting. It war leyke this, thoo knaws. Ah sed tiv oor John yah daay when he cam in; Ah sez tiv him, ‘Noo, then!’ an’ he sez ti ma, ‘Noo, then!’ An’ Ah sed, ‘Whya, noo, Ah’ll tell tha what; what diz ta think if wa gan ti Stockton Races?’ An’ he sez, ‘Wha, Ah s’u’d think ’at wa war daft—that’s what Ah s’u’d think.’ Ah seed ’at he war t’ wrang sahd oot, an’ seea Ah sed nowt neea mair just then. Bud bliss yer leyfe, Ah ’evn’t been wed tiv a man fahve an’ twenty year nut ti knaw t’ reet end o’ yan, ez a body might saay; seea Ah let things bahd whahl he cam intiv his supper, an’ Ah’ gat him a neyce bit o’ liver an’ bacon riddy. Ah seed him soffen t’ minit ’at he clapp’d his een on ’t. Bud, what! ya can ommaist awlus tattle onny man thruff his stomach. Ah waited a larl bit, whahl he’d gitten a mouth or tweea full, an’ then Ah sat ma doon on t’ cheer-airm, an’ started ti git ower him wi’ mah au’d cunnin’ waays, leyke what Ah used ti deea i’ daays geean by. Ah put mah airm roond his neck, an’ sed, ‘Noo, that’s a bit o’ neyce, isn’t it?’ An’ he sez, ‘Aye, lass.’ An’ Ah sed, ‘Aye, it is; ther’s neeabody else wad ’a’e bothered to ’a’e gitten tha sike a neyce bit o’ supper riddy.’ An’ then Ah ran mah fingers thruff his hair. ‘Neea,’ sez he, ’ther’s nut.’ An’ then efter a bit, he sez, ‘Ah’ll tell tha what, lass; if thoo wants ti gan ti t’ races, whya, what, Ah s’all ’a’e ti tak tha.’ ‘Nut if ya doan’t want ti go, mah luv,’ sez Ah. Bud Ah maad up mah mahnd ’at he s’u’dn’t back oot on ’t then. ‘Bud Ah’ll tell tha what,’ sez Ah, ‘if thoo wants ti gan, Ah’ll gan wi’ tha.’ Thoo knaws it’s best foor t’ men ti deea ez t’ weyfe wants ’em at t’ fo’st, acoz thoo knaws wa awlus deea git wer awn way owther thruff t’ yat or ower t’ hedge. Bud ez he’d sattled ti gan, theer war nowt neea mair ti saay aboot it. An’ seea when t’ morning cam, wa gat up a bit seeaner, an’ set off foor Guisborough Station—ma, Sairy Jane, an’ Jimmey, an’ oor John, wi’ t’ ten pund ’at mah aunt Martha ’ed left uz ti buy a bit o’ betterly furniter wi’.

Weel, thoo knaws, when wa gat ti t’ station, oho—oo! Ah think ’at Ah nivver war i’ sike a hubbleshoe i’ all mah leyfe. Ah sed ti Sairy Jane, ‘Noo, thoo mun tak ho’d, an’ keep ho’d o’ thi feyther’s coat-taal; an’ thoo, Jimmey, lig ho’d o’ mah sket, an’ see ’at nowther on ya leeaves go whahl wa’re all safely inti t’ carridge.’ Wa ’ed nobbut been studden that waay hauf a minit, when oor Sairy Jane let oot t’ gertest skrike ’at Ah’ve ivver heeard; an’ when Ah leeaked roond, if sha warn’t i’ the cruel clutch ov a bobby. ‘Noo, then,’ sez Ah, ‘what’s up wi’ t’ lass?’

‘Ah’ve catched her i’ t’ act,’ sez he.

‘I’ t’ act o’ what?’ sez Ah.

‘O’ picking this chap’s pocket,’ sez he.

‘Thoo gert dunderknowle!’ sez Ah. ‘Thoo’s deean nowt o’ t’ sooart; that’s her feyther, an’ sha’s nobbut ho’ding on tiv his coaat-taals, seea ez sha dizn’t git hersen lost amang all this thrang. Leeave lowse, an’ let her gan, an’ mak a shift ti leet o’ sumbody ’at’s up ti neea good; or else thoo’ll finnd thysen i’ t’ wrang box, Ah can tell tha.’ An’ wi’ that, Ah marched all t’ three on ’em inti t’ traan, which ’ed just puff’d itsen inti t’ station. Sitting reet i’ t’ front o’ ma, war a young chap wiv a rug ower his knees, potching three cards aboot maist miracklous leyke.

‘What are ya trying foor ti deea?’ sez Ah.

‘Whya, it’s a trick,’ sez he.

‘Whya,’ sez Ah, ‘Ah deean’t see mich ov a trick i’ owt ’at ya’ve deean up ti noo; onny bit baan could hann’l three cards i’ that road. What is ’t ya’re efter?’

‘Whya,’ sez he, ‘it’s a trick ’at Ah seed a chap deeaing yesterdaa, bud Ah’s nut weel up in ’t yet. Ah’s trying ti thraw ’em doon seea ez ya weean’t ken wheer t’ pictur-card tumm’ls.’

‘Oha, that’s it, is’t?’ sez Ah. An’ then Ah sez, ‘Ah’ll tell tha what, thoo’ll ’a’e ti lig ’em doon vastly different ti what thoo ’ez deean up ti noo, afoor thoo’ll mannish ti deea ’t, foor Ah’ve seen wheer it’s tumm’l’d ivvery tahm.’

‘Maist leykely,’ sez he; ‘bud ya knaw it’s ez Ah sed—Ah’s nut t’ maaster on’t yet.’

‘Neea,’ sez Ah, ‘Ah seear thoo isn’t.’

‘Whya, noo,’ sez he, chucking ’em doon agaan, ‘which on ’em’s t’ pictur-card this tahm?’

‘T’ far ended!’ sez Ah. An’ Ah lifted it up, an’ o’ course it war, ’coz Ah’d seen it tumm’l theer.

‘Aye, ya’ve mannished it this tahm,’ sez he.

‘Aye, an’ ivvery uther tahm!’ sez Ah, ‘if ta caan’t deea ’t neea better ’an that!’

‘Whya, noo then,’ sez he, chucking ’em doon agaan. ‘Deean’t touch ’em, bud tell uz which on ’em is ’t this tahm?’

‘T’ middle yan!’ sez Ah, ez bou’d ez brass.

‘Whya!’ sez he, ‘mebbe it is. Ah deean’t knaw neea mair ’an what ya deea, but Ah’s yan o’ them ’at backs mah fancy, an’ Ah’ll bet yer a suverin ’at it’s nut it.’

‘Young man!’ sez Ah, solembly, ‘diz yowr muther knaw ’at ya cum’d awaay wiv a suverin, foor ya’re gahin’ on iv a straange leykely way foor lossing on ’t.’

‘Nivver ya mahnd,’ sez he; ‘Ah’ll bet a suverin ’at it’s nut it. Ah’ve gitten mah idea, an’ ya’ve gitten yowrs—will ya bet?’

‘Well!’ sez Ah, ‘Ah deean’t ho’d wi’ betting, an’ Ah nivver at neea tahm did; bud if so be ez hoo an au’d boddy leyke mysen can larn ya hoo easy a suverin can be slithered awaay by backing up sike consate ez ’ez gitten ho’d o’ ya, whya, here gans.’ An’ Ah pulled mah pess83 oot, teeak t’ on’y suverin ’at Ah ’ed, and handed it tiv a chap ez war sitting byv his sahd; t’ young chap handed him yan an’ all, an’ then Ah lifted t’ card up, an’—oho—— o! Ah nivver war seea capped iv all mah leyfe—it warn’t it. Ah trimm’l’d an’ dithered fra t’ top ti t’ boddum o’ ma; Ah felt just ez if mah back war stuffed wiv aspen leeaves.

‘John!’ Ah gasped, ‘it’s a swinn’l, it’s a swinn’l; keep thi han’ i’ thi pocket, or thoo’ll be lossing t’ ten pund ’at mah aunt Martha left uz ti buy a bit o’ betterly furniter wi’. An’ deean’t let on ’at thoo ’ez ten pund aboot tha,’ sez Ah, foorgitting ’at Ah war letting ivvery yan on ’em i’ t’ carridge knaw ’at he’d gitten seea mich on him. Hooivver, Ah hedn’t neea tahm ti saay owt else, foor just then wa gat ti Stockton, an’ Ah think ther war a warse hubbleshoe on i’ Stockton Station ’an what ther war i’ Guisborough. ‘Noo, then!’ sez Ah tiv a gert fat woman ’at cam thrussin’ up agaan ma, ‘deean’t ya cum shuvvin’ ma aboot i’ that road.’ ‘Noo, then, Victoria!’ sez sha, ‘what’s t’ matter wi’ thoo?’ ‘Ah’s nut Victoria!’ sez Ah; an’ leeak ya, Ah deean’t think sha thowt ’at Ah war. Just ez Ah sed that, ther war anuther woman stood hersen reet on t’ top o’ mah pet bunion. ‘Oh deeary ma, missus!’ Ah skriked oot, ‘Ah cannut bahd this, hooivver, ya’re laaming ma sadly; deea tak yer foot off.’ ‘Noo, then,’ sez she, ’t’ station isn’t yowrs!’ ‘Neea,’ sez Ah, ‘bud t’ bunion is.’ An’ wi’ that Ah tell’d John an’ t’ childer ti follow cleease at t’ back o’ ma, an’ Ah boudly pushed mah waay oot o’ t’ station. Neea seeaner ’ed wa gitten ootsahd, ’an Ah seed clagg’d on a wall a gert big bill, wi’ theease we’ds printed on ’t, ‘BEWARE O’ PICKPOCKETS.’ An’ what d’ye think? Ah felt i’ mah pocket, an’ mah pess, eight-an’-six, an’ mah railway ticket ’ed all geean, geean ez cleean ez a whistle. Ah didn’t tell John; Ah just sed, ‘Thoo mun keep thi han’ i’ thi pocket, or else sumbody ’ll be takking t’ ten pund fra tha, if thoo dizn’t mahnd.’ He sez ti ma, ‘Tha weean’t git nowt oot o’ mah pockets, if tha deea shuv ther han’s in.’ Ah sez, ‘Thoo dizn’t meean ti saay ’at tha’ve gitten ’t fra tha alriddy, diz ta?’ ‘Neea,’ sez he, ‘Ah ’evn’t gitten t’ brass i’ mah pocket—Ah’ve putten ’t i’ mah hat.’ An’ then Ah notished ’at he ’ed his hancutcher tied ower his hat an’ unner his chin, leeaking foor all t’ wo’lld leyke yan ’at war iv an extremity wi’ t’ teeth wark; bud Ah thowt it war t’ capitalist idea ’at onnyboddy could ’a’e thowt on. Ah didn’t saay seea tiv him, acoz if yer praise t’ men tha seean git past thersens—bud ya knaw that bidoot ma telling ya. Hooivver, Ah did wish ’at Ah’d putten mah pess i’ mah bonnet, an’ then Ah s’u’dn’t ’a’e lost it an’ all ’at war iv it. ‘It’ll be t’ best,’ Ah sez, ‘foor uz ti finnd wa waays ti t’ course, git summat ti eat, see a race, buy t’ furniter, an’ gan yam ageean.’ Noo, hoo can Ah picter ti tha a race-course? If yer can ’magine all t’ rackapelts an’ raggamuffins gedered tigither i’ yah crood, shooting men an’ screeaming women, wi’ rows o’ carridges filled wi’ lords an’ ladies stuffing thersens wi’ pies an’ pop, ya can ’ev summat ov a idea what a race-course is leyke. Whahl wa war stannin’ fair capped wi’ t’ carryings on, whau s’u’d cum up bud t’ varra seeam young chap ’at Ah’d lost t’ pund teea i’ t’ carridge. ‘Ah’s glad ’at Ah’ve tumm’l’d across ya ageean,’ sez he. ‘Mebbe ya may be,’ sez Ah. ‘Ya see, ya wan t’ pund an’ Ah lost it, an’ that maks all t’ difference i’ being glad ti see onnybody.’ ‘Aye, bud that’s nut it; Ah’ve gitten a gert frien’ o’ yer muther’s wi’ ma,’ sez he. ‘Oh, indeed,’ sez Ah. ‘An’ whau may that be?’ ‘This is the gentleman,’ sez he; ‘let ma mak him knawn ti ya. This is Lord Swin’lton, whau knew yer muther varra weel.’ ‘Ah didn’t knaw ’at mah muther ivver war acquainted wiv a lord,’ sez Ah, leeaking t’ chap ower; bud ther war neea doot aboot his being a lord—Ah seed that t’ minit Ah clapped mah een on him. Oh yes, he war all there—ulster, eye-glass, di’mon’ pin, an’ ivverything. Ther’s no mistakking a lord when ya see yan, tha’re good eneeaf ti challenge. ‘This is yer husband?’ sez his lordship, leeaking at John. ‘Got t’ feeace-ache?’ sez he. ‘Noa, mah lord,’ sez Ah, ‘it’s nut t’ feeace-ache ’at he’s suffering fra. It’s leyke this, doan’t yer see, mah lord: mah aunt Martha left us ten pund ti buy a bit o’ betterly furniter wi’, an’ seea ez neeabody ’ll finnd oot wheer it is, he’s tied it up iv his hat, foor safety leyke, ez a body might saay, ez ya may term it so ti speeak.’

‘An’ a varra good plan an’ all,’ sez he.

Just at that minit t’ young chap whau Ah’d lost t’ pund teea teeak a fit, an’ fell wiv his han’s roond oor John’s neck, an’ doon tha baith went tigither, an’ ez tha tumm’l’d on ti t’ grand, Lord Swin’lton swiped oor John’s hat off wiv his stick, an’ next minit Sairey Jane beald oot, ‘Oha, muther! Lord Swin’lton’s off wi’ mah feyther’s hat, an’ it’s gitten t’ ten pund in ’t.’ Ah didn’t stop ti think, thoo knaws, bud just off efter him ez hard ez ivver Ah could gan. Ah heard a man saay ’at he’d nivver seen a woman leg it leyke what Ah did. Ah s’u’d ’a’e catch’d him an’ all, bud just when Ah war gahin’ ti click ho’d ov his coat taals, Ah catched mah foot iv a tent-roap, an’ afoor Ah knew wheer Ah war, Ah war laid wi’ mah heead iv a box o’ cokernuts. ‘Noo, then,’ shooted t’ man ’at awn’d ’em, ‘cum oot o’ that. Deean’t ya cum cracking mah cokernuts, an’ sucking t’ milk oot; ther’s neea free sucks here.’ Ah gat up, an’ Ah let that man ’ev t’ length o’ mah tunge—Lord Swin’lton ’ed ta’en hissel off by that tahm. Ther war nowt else for ’t bud ti git wersens heeam ez best wa could. An’ when Ah’d putten Sairey Jane an’ Jimmy ti bed, Ah sed tiv oor John, Ah sez, ‘Noo, John, Ah deean’t want ti upbraad tha—it’s been a sad daay foor uz—bud efter all’s sed an’ deean, thoo owt ti be asham’d o’ thisel foor ivver letting a woman ’tice tha inti takking her ti sikan a blackguardy pleeace ez Stockton Races.