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"What for?" asked the smith, who was always suspicious of information coming from the Colonel. "Happen it'll be so as you can tell 'em thro' other fowks. It'll be same as a farmer tar-marks his yowes wi' t' letters o' his name." "Doesta mean that they tar-mark lasses like sheep?" asked William Throup, his mouth agape with wonder.
So I just leaned ovver and whispered i' Abe's lug: "'Doesta tak a day off nows an' thens an' run wi' t' hounds or t' harriers? "Abe laughed as if he were fit to brust hissen, an' then, afore he'd time to answer, iverything went as dark as a booit.
Well, for sure, I niver thowt o' that." "It's not likely thou would; thou's noan what I sud call a thinkin' man. Thy tongue is ower fast for thy mind to keep up wi' it." "Then what doesta reckon they letters stand for?" asked Besom-Joe. "There's nowt sae difficult wi' t' letters when you give your mind to 'em," the smith replied.
So I said to him: 'Doesta mean that heaven stands for Socialism, Abe? "But Abe laughed an' shook his heead. 'Nay, lad, he said, 'we haven't gotten no 'isms i' heaven. We've gotten shut o' all that sort o' thing. There's no argifying i' heaven. There's plenty o' discipline, but it's what we call self-discipline; an' I reckon that's t' only sort o' discipline that's worth owt.
"'If thou'd to clim' trees same as I have, answered Melsh Dick, 'thou'd be covered wi' moss too, I'll uphod. "'An' what for doesta wear yon cap o' red fur ?? "'Why sudn't I wear a fur cap, I'd like to know. My mother maks 'em o' squirrel skins, an' they're fearful warm i' winter-time.
"Nay, blether-heead," replied Stackhouse, "they'll be like t' specials, and have t' letters on one o' them armlets. But doesta reckon, Colonel, that B.A. stands for t' name o' t' chap that owns t' college?" "Nay, they tell me that it stands for Bachelor of Arts, choose-what that means." The smith had listened to the Colonel's explanation of the mysterious letters with growing scepticism.
He had scarcely spoken, but an attentive observer could have divined his state of mind by the short, petulant blows he gave to the glowing horseshoe on the anvil. Now he stopped in his work, rested his arms on his hammer-shaft, and proceeded, after his fashion, to test the Colonel by questions. "Doesta reckon, Colonel," he began, "that t' schooil-missus is a he-male or a she-male?"
"Snakes, Rover, doesta see t' snakes," he would mutter, as his eye caught the serpent-like advance of the walls. The dog seemed to catch his meaning, and responded with a low growl of sympathy. "Aye, they're snakes," the old man went on, "crawlin's up t' fell-side on their bellies an' lickin' up t' dust.
"It's Mary," she answered, and advanced towards him. "Mary!" he exclaimed, and then, realising who Mary was, he shrank from her as though she had been an avenging spirit. The Mary of his dreams, the girl standing in the market-place with a halter round her neck, came back to his mind and deepened the look of terror in his eyes. "What doesta want wi' me?" he exclaimed, in a harsh whisper.
So t' devil started temptin' her, and what doesta think he said?" "I suppose he told her not to work so hard," I replied, "but take life more easily and quarrel a bit with her neighbours." Tim o' Frolics paused for a moment to enjoy the luxury of seeing me fall into the pit that he had dug for me, and then went on: "He said nowt o' t' sort.
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