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"We'll come, Dave, never fear," said Dick, taking out his knife as he reached the ice, and cleaning the mud off his skates, for the ground was soft near the fire, though hard as iron everywhere else. "I don't fear, lads," said Dave smiling, and letting off his watchman-rattle laugh. "It's a bad job, but not so bad as Farmer Tallington's stables burning, or squire's beasts heving theer legs cooten.
"We're getting on, neighbour," said the squire to Farmer Tallington one evening. "Ay, but it's slow work," said Tom's father. "It'll be years before that lode is cooten." "Yes, it will be years before it is finished," said the squire, "certainly." "Then, what's the good of us putting our money in it, eh? It'll do us no good, and be robbing our boys."
Yow mark my words: it's sperrits, that's what it is; and it's because o' that theer dreern; but they needn't shute at me, for I don't want dreern made." "Going over to town to see the doctor, John?" said Dick. "Nay, lad, not I. It's only a hole in my arm. There arn't nowt the matter wi' me. I've tied it oop wi' some wet 'bacco, and it'll all grow oop again, same as a cooten finger do."
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