"Has ta heeard th' news?"

"Niver a word! What's up?"

"Old Duke's getten wed."

"Nay, tha caps me nah! An' who's th' gurt maddlin getten wed to? Awst ha thowt he'd gettin to old to do that."

"He's wed Mary o' Nathan's o'th' Sludge Hoil."

"Well, tha does cap me nah! Why, he's old enuff to be her gronfayther ommost. A'a dear, A'a dear! Whativer wor shoo thinkin on? But I reckon shoo mud have a felly o' some sooart; but awd ha waited a bit longer if awd been her befoor awd ha' taen up wi' old Duke; besides he's a peg leg."

"Well shoo may'nt like him ony war for that, an' tha sees it'll save her a bit o' trouble, for shoo'll nobbut have one booit to black. But shoo's a trimmer, an' if he doesn't live to rue his bargain, awst be chaited. Shoo play'd him one o'th' nicest tricks, th' day after they gate wed 'at awve heeard tell on for a long time."

"Ha wor that?"

"Well, tha sees he gate rayther fresh o'th' weddin day, an' he wor varry dry when he wakken'd next mornin, soa he sed he'd get up an' goa as far as 'Th' Quiet Corner,' for a leck on; but shoo tell'd him he'd ha to do nowt o'th' sooart, for it wor ill enough to have a druffen chap at neet withaat havin one 'at started as sooin as he gate up. But he sed he should goa, an' shoo said he should'nt, an' they started o' threapin, but what does shoo do when he worn't lukkin, but shoves his peg leg up th' flue, an' he sowt it all ovver but couldn't find it?"

"That wor a cunnin trick onyway, but what sed Duke?"

"He had to stop at hooam ov cooarse, for shoo wod'nt tell him whear it wor until he promised net to goa near th' alehouse that day, an it had getten towards neet when he promised and as shoo'd kept a gooid fire all th' time it had getten a fairish warmin, and' old Duke noa sooiner gate it on an' wor walkin abaat a bit, nor it mashed like a pot, an' he fell his whoallength on to th' floor with his heead i'th' coilskep."

"Nay, tha does cap me nah! Ther'd be a bonny rumpus awl bet. Did ta hear?"

"Aw heeard nowt noa farther, nobbut some ov his chums gate to know, an soa they made a subscription, an' bowt him another, an' they had it painted red, white and blue, an' sent it lapt up i' silk paper. Old Duke wor ommost malancholy when he saw it, but Mary nobbut laft, an started on an' blackleeaded it, an' in a varry little time he wor set i'th' 'Quiet Corner,' wi as handsome a peg leg as tha'd wish to see. They chaff him a gooid bit abaat weddin Mary, but he taks it all i' gooid part, an' they've sent all sooarts o' presents to him. One day last week they sent him a creddle, an' Mary wor soa mad wol shoo gate th' blocker an' wor baan to chop it into chips, and wol shoo wor stormin on, a little lad coom to th' door an' sed, 'please aw've browt a pair o' specteckels for old Duke to rock th' creddle in.' An' shoo catched him a drive at side o'th' heead, wol his een fair blazed, an th' specteckels flew into th' middle o'th' rooad."

"Well, but it wor hardly reight on her to claat th' lad, coss he knew nowt abaat it."

"Why tha sees shoo didn't just think abaat it, but shoo made it all reight at after an gave him a butter cake, an' old Duke sam'd up th' specs, an' after saigin th' heead off, he turned th' creddle into a manger for his donkey."

"Well, tha caps me! But has ta heeard abaat that barrel o' ale runnin away throo old Nipsomes tother wick?"

"Noa, ha wor that? Aw hardly thowt he'd ony ale 'at had strength to run away."

"O but he has, for th' last gill awe gate fit three on us, an' we left some then. But it wor sellable stuff, awve had war:—net mich. But awl tell thi abaat this barrel. Th' brewery cart wor liverin some, an' tha knows their ale-cellar door is just at th' top o'th' old hill, an th' cartdriver let a barrel slip, an' away it roll'd daan th' hill slap agean th' gas lamp, an' it braik th' pooast i' two, an off it went till it coom to th' wall at th' bottom, when th' barrel end brast aat an' all th' ale wor wasted. Soa tha sees ther must ha been some strength in it if it could braik a iron lamp pooast; an' it wor nobbut common ale."

"Well th' loss wodn't be soa varry mich after all, they'll get ovver it. But has ta heeard they're gooin to turn Bill Summerscales' tripe shop into a limited liability company?"

"Nay, it's niver true, is it?"

"Its true enuff, for aw've been tell'd all abaat it bi a chap 'ats had it throo Bill hissen, but its a saycret tha knows, soa tha munnot tell onybody; but what does ta think on it?"

"Well aw hardly know what to think, but it seems to me 'at ther'll be noa limit to th' limited's in a bit. But what's th' shares to be, has ta heeard?"

"Ho e'ea! Ther's to be two hundred shares at a shillin a piece; nineteen twentieths he's baan to keep for hissen, an' his relations are to have th' furst chonce o'th' other, so as it'll be as mich a family affair as possible. Does ta see, that's done soa as if ivery thing doesn't work as it should, or ther should be ony fallin off i'th' quality o'th' tripe, they'll keep it quiet for ther own sakes."

"Well, aw cannot see what iver he's turnin it into a company consarn for?"

"Does ta see, he's rayther fast for that stuff fowk buys pigs wi, an' he's niver been able to pay for yon shuts painting yet, an' tha sees if theas shares are all taen up, it'll put him into a bit o' ready brass; an' th' dividend is to be declared once a year, an' th' shareholders can have ther choice whether they tak it aat i' tripe or trotters; an if th' first years' profit doesn't run to as mich as'll be a meal a piece, it'll be carried to a presarve fund, though what presarved tripe 'll be like aw cant tell."

"Well, tha caps me nah! Does ta think o' takkin up a share or two?"

"Aw hardly know yet. If aw tummel ovver as mich on mi way hooam as'll pay th' deposit, aw happen shall, but net else."

"Well, they'll net be mich i' my line. Who does ta think aw met to-day? Try to guess."

"Net aw marry! Awm noa hand at guessin."

"It wor Jim Wilkins, don'd up like a gentleman. It licks me whear he gets his brass; if ther isn't a smash up thear some day awst be capt. But he ows me nowt."

"Aw suppose his wife's a varry highty tighty sooart ov a body. Shoo's been browt up at th' boardin schooil."

"Why then, shoo'll be a poor dowdy in a haase. It's a queer thing, but eddication seems to mar as mony as it maks. Aw dooant know what Foster's bill may do."

"Is he baan to get wed?"

"Who?"

"Bill Foster."

"Aw ne'er sed owt abaat Bill Foster, aw mean Foster, M. P. for Bradforth. He's browt in a bill to eddicate fowks childer."

"Ho has he, aw niver heeard on it."

"Why tha'rt awfully behund hand."

"Aw may be i' mi politics, but net i' me payments, an' that's what monny a thaasand connot say. Aw wonder sometimes ha it wod ha been if iverybody 'at owed owt had been foorced to put it o'th' census paper. But what does ta think abaat old Strap puttin daan all his five childer musicianers?"

"Nay aw dooant know, but he wor allus a foxy sooart ov a chap an' he'd have some reason for it. But ha does ta mak it aat 'at they are all musicians?"

"Why, ther's two bellringers, two drummers, an' one drum hugger, an they all play off nooats, an' a varry long way off 'em sometimes. Did ta hear tell abaat them two lads o' his havin that do i'th' church steeple?"

"Noa, indeed aw! Let's have it."

"Well tha knows it happened to be practice neet an' as Ike wor gooin to th' church he bowt a sheep's pluck an' tuk it wi him, intendin to tak it hooam an have it cooked for ther supper. He happened to be th' furst 'at gate into th' bell chamer, soa he hung th' sheep pluck up agean th' wall, an' then went daan agean, leavin a little lamp burnin i'th' steeple. He'd hardly getten off th' step when his brother coom, an' findin th' door oppen he went up; but befoor he gate thear, a gust o' wind blew aat th' leet an' all wor as dark as pitch. He thowt it wor varry strange for he knew Ike had come before him, soa he bawled aat 'Ike!' but nobody spaik. 'Aw know tha'rt up here,' he sed, 'soa let's ha nooan o' thi tricks. Spaik, wi' ta?" but nowt spaik. Sid felt rayther freetened, but he began to grope all raand th' walls, bein sure his brother wor thear i'th' dark. All at once his hand coom agean a piece o' liver, an' it felt soa cold, an' soa mich like a face, 'at he started back, an' as sooin as he could find th' step, he ran daan as fast as he could, an' when he gate to th' bottom he luk'd at his hand an' it wor all blooidy. 'Awr Ike's cut his throit,' he sed, 'Whativer mun aw do?' An he wor just gooin to yell aat 'Police!' when who should come up but his brother. Th' seet on him tuk a gurt looard off Sid's mind, but yet he wor varry freetened. 'What's th' matter, Sid,' sed his brother, 'tha luks ill; Isn't th' pluck all reight?' 'Th' pluck's gooan,' sed Sid, shakkin his heead an' puttin his hand on his heart. 'Gooan!—Aw'll niver goa into that bell-chamer ageean as long as aw live! Aw've allus sed, if a chap 'll rob another ov his livin, he'll rob him ov his life if he's a chonce.'"

"'Well aw wor just thinkin a gooin for th' police,' sed Sid, 'but we dooant know who it is.' Its one o'th' ringers as sure as we're here.' 'Hi, its one o'th' ringers noa daat, but aw hooap he hasn't a wife an' a lot o' childer.' 'Well,' sed Ike, 'if he has, an taks it hooam for 'em to ait, aw hooap it'll chooak th' lot on 'em.' Just as he sed this, all th' rest o'th' ringers coom up, an' were capt to find Ike an' Sid soa excited, soa pairt cluthered raand one an' pairt raand tother, an' Sid tell'd one lot 'at a chap had cut his throit i'th' bell chamer, an' Ike tell'd tother 'at somdy'd stown his sheep's pluck. 'Well we mun goa an see,' sed some on 'em, an they gate some leets an away they went up. Ike wor th' first an' Sid th' last. When they gate into th' chamer, Ike saw th' pluck hung up just whear he'd left it, an' he turned raand an' saw Sid peepin off th' corner o'th' door. 'This is one o' thy tricks, Sid,' sed Ike, but th' words wor hardly aat ov his maath befoor Sid wor on his knees declaring, 'at he'd niver harmed onybody i' all his life. 'Tha's noa need to goa onto thi knees abaat it onyway,' sed Ike, 'haiver, hear it is, soa all's reight, tha con hug it up hooam for me; an' he gave it him. Sid wor soa taen, wol he put up his hands to mak sure 'at he worn't asleep; an' th' chaps 'at he'd been tellin his tale to, began to smell a rat, an' at last it wor all explained, an' niver mind if ther worn't some laffin an' chaffin. Poor Sid gets plagued abaat it yet, for ommost ivery body's getten to know, an' if onnybody, livin abaat that church, wants a sheep's heead an' a pluck, they order th' butcher to send 'em a New-Taan Boggard."

"Well tha caps me nah!"

"Gooid neet.—Awr Mally 'll think aw'm niver comin."

"Gooid neet.—But is it true?"

"True!—It's just as true as all sich like."

"A'a, well,—tha caps me nah!"