A het foorneun, when we war oa’ gaily thrang at heÀm, an oald gentleman mak’ of a fellow com’ in tul ooar foald an’ said, whyte nateral, ’at he wantit somebody to gÀ wid him on’t fells. We oa’ stopt an’ teuk a gud leuk at him afoor anybody spak; at last fadder said, middlin’ sharp-like—(he ola’s speaks that way when we’re owte sa thrang, does fadder)—“We’ve summat else to deu here nor to gÀ rakin ower t’fells iv a fine day like this, wid nÈabody kens whoa.” T’gentleman was a queerish like oald chap, wid a sharp leuk oot, grey hair and a smo’ feÀce—drist i’ black, wid a white neckcloth like a parson, an’ a par of specks on t’top of a gay lang nwose at wasn’t set varra fair atween t’ e’en on him, sooa ’at when he leuk’t ebbem at yan through his specks he rayder turn’t his feÀce to t’ya side. He leuk’t that way at fadder, gev a lal chÈarful bit of a laugh an’ said, iv his oan mak’ o’ toke, ’at he dudn’t want to hinder wark, but he wad give anybody ’at ken’t t’fells weel, a matter o’ five shillin’ to gÀ wid him, an’ carry two lal bags. “’Howay wid tha, Joe,” sez fadder to me, “it’s a croon mair nor iver thou was wurth at heÀm!” I meÀd nÈa words aboot it, but gat me-sel’ a gud lump of a stick, an’ away we set, t’oald lang nwos’t man an’ me, ebbem up t’ deÀl.

As we war’ climmin’ t’fell breist, he geh me two empty bags to carry, meÀd o’ ledder. Thinks I to me-sel’, “I’s gan to eddle me five shillin’ middlin’ cannily.” I niver thowte he wad finnd owte on t’ fells to full his lal bags wid, but I was misteÀn!

He turn’t oot to be a far lisher oald chap nor a body wad ha’ thowte, to leuk at his gray hair and his white hankecher an’ his specks. He went lowpin owre wet spots an’ gurt steÀns, an’ scrafflin across craggs an’ screes, tul yan wad ha’ sworn he was summat a kin tul a Herdwick tip.

Efter a while he begon leukin’ hard at oa’t steÀns an’ craggs we com’ at, an’ than he teuk till breckan lumps off them wid a queer lal hammer he hed wid him, an’ stuffin t’ bits intil t’ bags ’at he geh me to carry. He fairly cap’t me noo. I dudn’t ken what to mak o’ sec a customer as t’is! At last I cudn’t help axin him what meÀd him cum sÈa far up on t’fell to lait bits o’ steÀns when he may’d finnd sÈa many doon i’t deÀls? He laugh’t a gay bit, an’ than went on knappin’ away wid his lal hammer, an’ said he was a jolly jist. Thinks I to me-sel’, thou’s a jolly jackass, but it maks nÈa matter to me if thou no’but pays me t’ five shillin’ thou promish’t ma.

Varra weel, he keep’t on at this feckless wark tul gaily leÀt at on i’t efter-neun, an’ be that time o’ day he’d pang’t beÀth o’t ledder pwokes as full as they wad hod wid bits o’ steÀn.

I’ve nit sÈa offen hed a harder darrak efter t’ sheep, owther at clippin time or soavin time, as I hed followin’ that oald grey heidit chap an’ carryin’ his ledder bags. But hooiver, we gat back tul oor house afoor neeght. Mudder gev t’ oald jolly jist, as he co’t his-sel’, some breid an’ milk, an’ efter he’d teÀn that an’ toak’t a lal bit wid fadder aboot sheep farming an’ sec like, he pait ma me five shillin’ like a man, an’ than tel’t ma he wad gi’ ma udder five shillin’ if I wad bring his pwokes full o’ steÀns doon to SkeÀl-hill be nine o’clock i’t mwornin’.

He set off to woak to SkeÀl-hill just as it was growin’ dark; an’ neist mwornin’, as seun as I’d gitten me poddish, I teuk t’ seÀm rwoad wid his ledder bags ower me shoolder, thinkin’ tul me-sel’ ’at yan may’d mak a lal fortune oot o’ thur jolly jists if a lock mair on them wad no’but come oor way.

It was anudder het mwornin’, an’ I hedn’t woak’t far till I begon to think that I was as gurt a feul as t’oald jolly jist to carry brocken steÀns o’t’ way to SkeÀl-hill, when I may’d finnd plenty iv any rwoad side, clwose to t’ spot I was tackin’ them tul. Sooa I shack’t them oot o’ t’ pwokes, an’ then stept on a gay bit leeter widout them.

When I com nar to SkeÀl-hill, I fund oald Aberram Atchisson sittin on a steul breckan steÀns to mend rwoads wid, an’ I ax’t him if I med full my ledder pwokes frae his heap. Aberram was varra kaim’t’ an’ tell’t ma to tak them ’at wasn’t brocken if I wantit steÀns, sooa I tell’t him hoo it was an’ oa’ aboot it. T’ oald maizlin was like to toytle of his steul wid laughin’, an’ said me mudder sud tak gud care on ma, for I was ower sharp a chap to leeve varra lang i’ this warld; but I’d better full my pwokes as I liked, an’ mak’ on wid them.

T’ jolly jist hed just gitten his breakfast when I gat to SkeÀl-hill, an’ they teuk ma intil t’ parlour tul him. He gurned oa’t feÀce ower when I went in wid his bags, an’ tell’t me to set them doon in a neuk, an’ than ax’t ma if I wad hev some breakfast. I said I’d gitten me poddish, but I dudn’t mind; sooa he tell’t them to bring in some mair coffee, an’ eggs, an’ ham, an’ twoastit breid an’ stuff, an’ I gat sec a breakfast as I never seed i’ my time, while t’ oald gentleman was gittin’ his-sel’ ruddy to gang off in a carriage ’at was waitin’ at t’ dooar for him.

When he com doon stairs he geh me t’udder five shillin’ an’ pait for my breakfast an’ what he’d gitten his-sel’. Than he tell’t ma to put t’ ledder bags wid t’ steÀns in them on beside t’ driver’s feet, an’ in he gat, an’ laugh’t an’ noddit, an’ away he went.

I niver owder seed nor heard mair of t’ oald jolly jist, but I’ve offen thowte ther mun be parlish few steÀns i’ his country, when he was sooa pleas’t at gittin’ two lal ledder bags full for ten shillin’, an’ sec a breakfast as that an’. It wad be a faymish job if fadder could sell o’ t’ steÀns iv oor fell at five shillin’ a pwokeful—wadn’t it?