Giles.

Isn't it a vara hard caas, pray-the-now,
Thou sees

at yan munnot oppen ther mind a bit ?
plainly, how th' girt fonlin didn't ken what havver
cake war.

Brid. Noa, barn, he teuk 'em, as they laid at fleeak, for round bits o' leather. I ax'd him to taste it, an see tacks up t' beesom start, potters yan down, an keps it i' my appron. He then nepp'd a lile wee nookin on't, nut validum o' my thoum naal, an splutter'd it out ageean, gloaring gin it wor puzzum, an efter aw I cud say, I cudn't counsel t'other to taste ayther it or some bannocks, they wor dazzed a bit, for sure. It war girt luck at I hed some efter temsin breead i't' Aumry, as they didn't set mitch stoar omme breead. Ther dogs warn,t at aw dench, they maad naa proud orts, I promise thee, for they licked up to-a-three neapons o' meal, at I fetch'd out o't' ark, an soss'd up a gay soap o' blue milk an lop, per'd ream, out of our girt flann'd dish.

Giles. Did thy outcumlins matter thy collops? Brid. Eye marry, they cadged ther houl-hampers, an sleck'd thersels wi' a meas potful or two o' grout, a bit heeody an flizzen for sure, just tacken out at guilefat, for ower strang drink barrel war quite toom'd, an I war saary for't, for it war a soap a mortal good drink, bud there warn't a sigh left. They behaav'd like gentlefoak when they'd doon, for they gamme twelve groats. Efter aw, I went a gaitards wi' 'em to Moorcock Hall, forthere's a plezur i' waitin o' down reight quality, theye'r nut hauf seea dench ner seea difficult as them maacky upstarts.

Giles. Thouz seea bobberous an keckahoop wi' thy twelve groats, an seea ta'en up wi' thy quality, at thouz quite an clear forgitten t' lile whipper snapper window-peeper, whar comes he fray?

Brid. Hodto a bit. I'll tell the aw enow. I think i' my heart there nivver war t' marrow to the. Thouz nut a morsel o' patience, thou will hev titter gait in omme, I've nut tell'd the aw yet. For surely nivver onny poor crayture went thro' seea

monny troubles i' ya day. Ya trouble fell seea fast at neck of another.

Giles. Come, out wi' 't then, Bridget.

Brid. Wha, i' gangin haam, efter I left my quality, it soon becom dosky. Oh! Giles! my knees parfitly whacker ageean at thowtes o' what I'se boun to tell the.

Giles. Heaven's sake! what wort' matter?

Brid. Wha, when I'd reak'd Black-hill Crag, that feaful onely plat, Oh! Giles! nivver war poor woman i' sike a tackin.

Giles. Out weet, out weet, Bridget, what wor the to do?

Brid. Wha, vara first thing I clapp'd my een on wort' Dule in a feaful flash o' fire.

Giles. Dule! Oh, hersto bud, barn, how thou talks ?

Brid. Talk! I talk truly, at do I, an I nobbud can believe my awn een. He mun be that at's nowt, ayther Oud Nick or a Guytrash.

Giles. What wor he like ?

Brid. I can hardly tell what he wor like, I wor sea maz'd; for my heart loup'd up to my mouth at seet on't; an aw at yunce I brack into a muck sweeat, at did I.

Giles. Didto see his horns?

Brid. Horns! eye, I think I did etraath, they wor aw out as lang as yower girt Ousens! An his een as big as pewther doublers, flash'd fire maast feafully.

Brid.

They say how't Dule hez a tail, didto

Eye, I saa it, an moreower ner that, felt

it; for he lash'd it to an fra at naa lile rate. Giles. Did he lig a laam o' the?

Brid.

a lile

Naa; for I dropt ommy knees, an worded prayer, an then I defied him; for, thou knaws, God's ollas aboont' Dule. Bud for aw I war sartain he cudn't hurt me, my knees baad whackerin; bud I crept by as wheemly as I weel cud, he nivver

hurt a hair o' my head, at did he nut, for a lile bit I steud at whethers which gait to gang, bud at efter I yunce gat off I did dirl it away inbank.

Giles. Thou says thou sa him at Blackhill Crag ?

Brid. Eye, at that vara spot.

Giles. Poor Bridget, I lile thowte at thou, of aw foak, wad ha' been sike a daft fondlin. Thy Dule, as t'o caws him, were nout i'th' ward bud a horse heead. For our lads, efter they'd doon graavin at Flah moor, began a fratchin an lakin. They fand an oud horse scaup, an teed tul't a lile kid o' ling, wi' a piece a raap, 'bout a yerd an a hauf lang. They then fettl'd it up, clapp'd it at top o' Blackhill Cragg, an leeted to-a-three leggeren o' peeots at side on't.This, Bridget, war that dreeadful flash o' fire; an that kid o'ling, at hung ower't Crag, an blaw'd about wi' t' wind, wort' lashin o' thy Dule tail.Ah! ah! ah! poor Bridget, thouz nivver hear t'last o' this.

Brid. Thou needn't laugh me seea feeafully to scorn about it, hed thou bin theear, thou wad ha' bin war flaad behauf. Waaworth yower lads, an I catch 'em, by jen I'll remman 'em, an sigh ther lugs for 'em. Now, Giles, antul mack me a promise nut to tel ower foak about this Dule; for, thou minds, I maad 'em as flaad mysel, I'll tell the aw about t' lile ' window peeper.

Giles. Wha, I will then. Whar comes that lile whipper snapper window peeper fray? Skipton ? Brid. Skipton, nay byt' leddy, I's ommost sure he comes fray London, for I can hardly tell yan word i' ten, he knacks an talks seea fine, an macks use o' sike outlandish gibberish.

Giles. What mack of a tit did he ride on ?
Brid. A dasant, jump, bay yaud, wi' a churchil'd

mane.

Giles. Girt like, it wert' vara saam fellow at raad, at a girt bat, down ower loan, just when I'd swarm'd upt' wicken tree. I war stapdin, thou minds,

'th' grainin, an snaggin off some boos at anmered t'gait, when his skaddle tit, glentin its ee up at me, took boggle, maad a girt flounder, an ran back 'geeant mistow nookin. He'd sure a bin thrawn, hedn't he click'd hod o't' mane wi' ya hand, an tailband wi' t'other; an, lile puppy, an he hedn't yark'd baath spurs intot' flank, shoe'd a doft him efter aw.

Brid. I sud ha' been feaful fain to a seen t❜lile window peeper, a proud, maacky, puppy dog, seea flaid. Hed I ben theear, I wod a clapt a bunch o' nettles undert' yaud's tail, and maad her spangwhew him owert' waw, and pash'd an bray'd his harnes out. I wad a towt him, a skewin, pryin taad, to come tot' moorside ageean peepin an skewin about i' ivv'ry

nook.

Giles. There warn't mich need for nettles, I'll uphodto, Bridget, for i' aw the born days thou nivver sa owght look seea dash'd an sackless. He war parfitly ov a muck sweeat.

Brid. I's fain on't, lile Jack-a-dandy.

Giles. Thou's na marcy o't' lile fellow, bud's ollas gnatterin an hypin at him. Bud thou hesn't tell'd me yet what t'husband said when he com haam fra' Flay Moor.

Brid. Say wha, he wor hotterin mad, an play'd th' moats an hangment, an wod a fain seen that lile peepin dule; for he wad a geen him his creepins, an sike a hezlin an a whalin as wad a maad his wezzon parfitly wherkin agecan.

aw ?

Giles. Didto finnd thy stag an thy beeas efter

Brid. Eye, I fann'd 'em, efter gangin a lang way o'th' back o'th' Croanberry wham, an I thowte, forsure, ift' brock-faced branded stirk hedn't rauted feafully, I nivver sud a fun 'em. Ise flaid ower stag'll be kensmark'd, as hees dung some hair off his nar huggan an cammerel.

Giles. Blend some soote an swine saam togither, an clap't toth' spot, an he'll happen ail na maar en't. Didto see onny cranberries, Bridget? I mun

omma.

late some for ower Squire, hez formill'd three quarts It's 'boon a fortneet sin he stevven'd 'em. Brid. I sa vara few, I think they're a mack a scantish to year. There's a gay to-a-three a blaaberries. They lig seea rank o'th' grund at thou mud fill a maund in a crack.

Giles. Hesto heardt' news?

Brid.

What news?

Giles. Wha, ower Tom wor at Skipton fair this week, and he brings word howť talk gangs theear at Bonny'll be here in a crack, an how orders are geen to leet awt' beacons, Monday come a sennight. Brid. Oh, hearsto! God shild it. They'll be sad wark, I's fear'd, i'th' end on't.

Giles. Them men'll hev a bonny easy peddle ont' top o'th' beacon for their hauf a crown a day. Brid. Dunnot they tent aw neet?

Giles. Nay, they nobbud sud do.

·Brid. Sud it be frost an snaw, I aim, they'll be fain to steeal to bed.

Giles. Bud, etraath, sud they be taan nappin be t'owerlooker, he'll soon skift 'em.

Brid. What ha' the to do theer, Giles?

Giles. They've nowght to do bud to mack a girt bloaz, ananters they spy a leet i't' other beacons. Brid. It'll shut a power o' brass.

Giles. It will, naa doubt, swattle away a seet o' silver, bud its better to loaz hauf ner aw.

Brid. That's sure enif; for, fra' aw accounts, that Bonny's a feeaful girt rogue; he sheds aw I ivver heard tell on; hees nivver whiat, hees ollas agait o' some brabblement, rampin an reavin at iv'ry thing; an let what will happen, hees sure to keep tail i't' watter, an hez haa sooner lick'd ya country, ner hees raumin at another.

Giles. They say he proffers girt things to aw his sougers, as soon as ivver they can git a footeing on oud England. Habat him, weeel sizzup him an he does come, for, byth' mess, as fauce as he is, I've a girt persavance how ower navvy an volunteers, fair