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"Nay, sure. Does he get ony wage?" "Nawe," replied Skedlock; "he's drawn his wage wi' his teeth, so fur. But he's larnin', yo' known he's larnin'. Where's yo'r Jone? I want to see him abeawt some plants." "Well," said Nanny, "sit tho down a minute. Hasto no news? Thae'rt seldom short of a crack o' some mak." "Nay," said Skedlock, scratching his rusty pate, "aw don't know 'at aw've aught fresh."
But when he had looked thoughtfully into the fire for a minute or so, his brown face lighted up with a smile, and drawing a chair up, he said, "Howd, Nanny; han yo yerd what a do they had at th' owd chapel, yesterday?" "Nawe." "Eh, dear!... Well, yo known, they'n had a deal o' bother about music up at that chapel, this year or two back.
Another old woman presented herself, with a threadbare shawl drawn closely round her gray head. "Well, Ann," said the chairman, "there's nobody but yourself and your John, is there?" "Nawe." "What age are you?" "Aw'm seventy." "Seventy!" "Aye, I am." "Well, and what age is your John?" "He's gooin' i' seventy-four."
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