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"Nat Assy Gaale?" he said. "Assy Gaale? 'Oo's she to mook 'er naame with 'er dirty toongue?" "Yo'll not goa far thot road, Jimmy. 'Tis wi' t' womenfawlk yo'll 'aave t' racken." He knew it. The first he had to reckon with was Maggie. Maggie, being given notice, had refused to take it. "Yo' can please yoresel, Mr. Greatorex. I can goa. I can goa.
"Yo' used t' saay yo' were." "How silly of me. And I used to be afraid of Maggie." "I've been afraaid of Maaggie afore now. She's got a roough side t' 'er toongue and she can use it. But she'll nat use it on yo'. Yo've naw call to be afraaid ef annybody. There isn't woon would hoort a lil thing like yo'." "They say things about me. I know they do." "And yo' dawn't keer what they saay, do yo'?"
Blenkiron came out and looked at him sulkily. "I'll shoe t' maare," he said, "but yo'll stand outside t' smithy, Jim Greatorex." For answer Jim rode the mare into the smithy and dismounted there. Then Blenkiron spoke. "You'd best 'ave staayed where yo' were. But yo've coom in an' yo' s'all 'ave a bit o' my toongue. To-morra's yore weddin' day, I 'ear?"
"Faith, ye oogly yaller-faced raskil," he cried, putting up his fists in the scientific way we had learnt from long practice on board with the gloves under our gymnasium instructor, "Oi'll knock ye into the middle of nixt Soonday wake, ef ye don't kape a civil toongue in yer hid an' put yer owld dhrumsticks behint ye!"