Brid. Thou hezn't tell'd me yet, Giles, what to wanted wi' ower Tom.

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Giles. I wanted him to drive me some beeas an sheep to Girston, to summer theear. Thou minds, t'weather soon on i'th' spring, eftert' breck o' that caum storm, wor seea pelsy, coud, and raty, followed wi' sitch a snithe, hask wind, at I've hardly ony gerse o'th' land, at I winter-ferr'd, grund war seea kizzin'd; seea I'se i' some measer forced to fest owte two ousen, neen gimmer mug'd hogs, hauf a score a spaaned lambs, a dozen dinmans, a why, two stirks, an three twinters. I'd aimed to a sent wi' 'em ower dodded seg. Bud hees gain back o'lat, as fast as dike watter, his har sticks up, for au t'ward, like an urchin's back. I mist my chap sadly. Bout two months sin butcher Roberts put earles into my hand, an bad me ten pund neen for him, an I wor to a geen him hauf-' a-crown ageean; bud as I bout him in an seea heigh en end at Aptrac fair, for he wor a mortal nice viewly wandy beast, at war he, when E bout him in, I cud not thoal him at onny sike figure. Sin sine I mud a swapt him wi' Jammy Tennant, for a dozen Scotch yows; bud, girt hobbil at I war, as times are seea slack, I mist my chance, I didn't coup wi' him.— Sudn't he kreutin up soon, I sall be forced, efter au, to send him to Colne market. Ower hay war seea leet an winded, aut average, seea cowarse an roody, my stock hez thriven vara ill; they're nout at au bud kite. It's time for me to lap up, I sall be parfitly shigg'd an I gang on mich langer thus, for three stirks an a Scotch runt torfill'd autogither last Avril. How dos't cow prove yower Joan bout o' me?

Brid. We thowt how wee'd wared ower brass to a good end, an hed sped weel, as shoe gav a gay soap at first like, an her milk war feaful ritch an blake. Bud shoe now daws vara ili, her yowyer is seea hellerd wi't' fellon, at its parlous ominost reakin yans hands to her paps. I wari' girt hoaps shoe wad a warish'd fore this, bud her butter's yet seea ram at it'sfit for nowght bud liggin by tot' back end for sheep

sauve.. Shoe pares fast, I'se flaid efter au, I sall be forced to signe her. This note's lile good tul.

Giles. Come, as I've hed a sleeveless errand, an I'se seea mislippen'd, I mun endays, anters neet be omme fore I git back fray Girston.

Brid. Nay, man, hovver a bit, let's hev a bit maar o'thy javver. I'd ommost forgitten to ax the to lend us yower steigh, while we git yan maad, we look for th' reets an sagers to-morn. They hagged a nice. birk for't yusterneet, at grew atop o'th' Eealand, on some acker moud, claas to 'th' turmups. Joan war sadly greav'd it wor seea stoven'd wi' fawin.

Giles. Ye may hev it to lite on, an welcome. Brid. Thou's nivver tell'd me yet whether ye've gitten in aw yower eldin, Giles.

Giles. Naa, nut we, marry, for my daam hez been seea seek, at I war forced to send th' lad for t' potticar, God knaws, how oft last week, an I knan’t whether shoes onny better for awt' posumful stuff hees geen her. He gav her a pick last neet, thou minds, it war naa sooner down ner it blew her up like a fuzbaw, at shoe parfitly rifted ageean; I sa na mander a good it did her efter aw, bud mack her as wake as a wassel.

Brid. I'se feaful waa to larn shoes seea vara silly, what think ye on her?

Giles. Naa, God knaws what to think on her, shoe hods mitch at yan like, cant and deftly i'th' mornin, an she feels seea leetsome an cobby, an can tottle an tantle about a bit, I'se sometimes i' hoapes shoe's cruitin up ageean; bud happen shoe's nut been пр aboon hauf an howr, 'fore shoe begins to be vara tim'rous an keisty, an as teathy as a steg in yate, an then shoe maddles an taums ower in a sweb, as seek as a peeat.

Brid. Dos't hod her a girt while?

Giles. Ay, a gay bit, and shoe' seea gaumless shoe hardly kens ower Sall.

Brid. Waist heart, how's her stomach?

Giles. Wha, naa girt matters at it, for shoe's nut itten hauf book o' my kneaf sin Monday cum a sennight, shoe's seea dench an kecker.

Brid. Mare pity!

Giles. If shoe nobud cud bide to gang out a bit, I've a girt thout t'air wod be o' sarvice to her.Bud shoe's seea silly an wake at present, I'se vara sure 'twod be to mitch for her.

Brid. Does shoe sleep weel?

Giles. Naa matters as to that, it's nout bud a brokken sloum, an then shoe teughs an taves about seea mitch, at shoe's sure to poit off aw her happin. At times she stinns feafully in her douvens, we consate shoe's ridden be th' bitch doughter. Nows an thens shoe's girds o' peffin an coughin, an ruttles in her wezzen, an it hods her seea lang, at yau wad think her leets were tainted.

Brid. If shoe. nobbud cud git a bit a naturable rist, shoe wod sam up strength fast, an I wish to God shoe may, for oud lang syne.

Giles. As soon as ivver shoe can bide it, I aim to baad her i'th' beck...

Brid. An the donot gang an douk 'em when they sweeat, I guess a good sowlin is a feaful stregthenin thing.

Giles. Thou knaws, Bridget, we're vara bane tot' beck, an we mun mind to tack her as soon as th' sweeating gird's off her; but, girt like, shoe'l tack uncuth tul't at first.

Brid. Wiah, that's what; bud then, how can ye baad her in seea lile a soap o' watter.

Giles. We can dem it up a bit, an mack a dub a gay dipness.

Brid. I'se flaid ye'll do her a mischief, do as deftly as ye can, it's seea staany.

Giles. An that be aw, we can douk her i' our gimlin.

Brid. When I sa the last neet, it quite scapp'd my memory to tell the, that while ower folk wor at flah moor yesterday, there com a fine mack of a

prossin, flybysky, uncoth fellow down ower foud, byt' peeat hul, to t' house door, ower bitch yowlin feafully aw t'while. Thou minds, as I wor cower'd down by t' fire nookin, claas tot' hood end, twinan some cowarse garn, maad fra sheep gowdins, my kneeaves au deet wi' scarn, I sa him comin, seea yark'd up i' a crack, an ast him what he wanted.— He began wi' saying, "Good day to you, good woman, have you got a barn ?" Aye, says I, hauf a dozen. 66 One, my friend," says he, "is quite enough for me." Seea, at that, barn, I yarks intot❜ house, an hugs out lile Bill, an, says I to him, as he wor standing hard by t' midden steead, here's yan on 'em, what want ye wi' him? At that he began to snert an laugh me feafully to scorn, an I thowt, for sure, he wad a brosten his sell fore he gave ower. I war then so hotterin mad at I cud bide na langer, an says I to him, ye may happen think yoursel finely donn'd and pouther'd, bud I'se vara sure ye're naa gentleman, tack ye that, or ye wadn't behaav i' sike a shamful way to a poor silly woman.

Giles. What said he to that, Bridget?

Brid. Said, wha, efter I'd flaat him soundly, seeing me in sike turmoil, an macking a girt coil, he began to soften a bit; an said, in a gizenin way, Good woman, don't be offended, I only want a place to put my horse in." An that be aw, said I, ye mud astite at yunce, bout laughin me to scorn seea 'bout my poor barns, hev esh'd for ower laithe, for there's roum enif an bouses plenty theear, an ye may tack yer yaud theear yoursel, if ye like, for I'll nut thrang mysel wi' ye.

Giles. Thou gav't him reight theear, Bridget, fort' finest gentleman i'th' waard sal nivver frump ner mack a fool o'me; an what said he then?

Brid. Efter he'd chopp'd his yaud i't' laithe, he then com owert' ass-midden tot' door, gat agait o' fabbin me, an says, in a snod flagin way, " I shall trouble you again, if you please. Be so good as to lend me your ladder." Waa, says I, as ye'r' an

uncoth man; for aw ye heynot behaved tumme in a vara gradely way, I'll fotch it. Seea, thou minds, I gangs up tot' glass caas, an tacks up t'saap an brush fra' behint pewter doubler, at Joan hed been shavin hissel wi' last Sabbath mornin. An he'd naa sooner clapt his e'en on 'em, ner I think i' my heart he wherried an snerted at me harder ner ivver, at he keckled while he varily kinkt ageean, an byt' meskins, an I'd hed beesom i' my hands, I wad ayther a geen him a ketty cur, a girt clout ourt' head, or degg'd him purely w' oud lant.

Giles. Thou wad a sarraed him reight and to't hed.

Brid. Obsarvin I wadn't be dung up wi' him, ner put up wi' his titt'ring, scornful sneer, he says, in a cantin flagein way, as an butter wadn't melt i' his mouth, "My good woman, I am sorry you so misunderstand me, I only wished to have some steps or a ladder to get upon the hay mow, to give my horse a little hay." A ledder, for sure, to get on tot' hay mow. Think ye, says I, that sike behavour as yours desarves onny favvor, seea, clappin baath kneaves to my huggans, I tells him i' a stoar voice, as lang as I'se maister o' this house, will-to shall-to, yees naan hev ya mouthful.

Giles. Proud Kickshaw! he war nivver at yan wi' hissell, he didn't knaw his awn mind fra ya minute to another. Thou held him up strangly, Bridget, what did he then ?

Brid. He then steud claas toth' staan benk, reared like London puther, looked vara glum an gruff, pood aut a rid book, an wrate down aw t windows.

Giles Odsheart, Bridget, theaugh gat into a feaful aacker'd hobble, hedto knaan titter at he wor a window peeper, theugh wadn't a been seea flaid o' thy hay. An what said he then?

Brid. Wiah, just as an nowght hed happened, an he'd been gayly used to flightin, he says tumme,