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Updated: June 17, 2025
'Yo' cornd bring 'em ony nearer than they are. They're up yon, sithi, and so saying the child pointed to the evening sky. 'So you call the stars "parish candles," do you? smilingly inquired Mr. Penrose. 'I never heard them called by that name before. 'It's my faither co's 'em "parish candles," not me, said the child. 'And what do you call them?
'Well! yo' and Jim may do as yo' like but I'm noan baan to turn aat o' th' owd Fold till I'm ta'en aat feet fermost. 'Nay, gronny don't tak' on so. Yo' cornd ston' agen law as haa it be; a writ is a writ, and if yo' hevn't got brass it's no use feightin'. 'A, lass! I'm feared thaa's reet naa-a-days them as has most gets most, and their own way i' th' bargain.
'Naa, Merry, continued he, seating himself in the rocking-chair, or 'courtin'-cheer, as he called it, and drawing his blushing, yielding wife gently on his knee, 'naa, Merry, whod is it? 'Cornd ta guess? asked she, hiding her face on his shoulder. 'Nowe, lass; aw've tried th' hens and mi mother, and aw'm wrang i' both, an' aw never knew aught bother thee but t' one or t' other on 'em.
'Theyer, Enoch, thaa sees what thi tootling on th' owd flute's done for thee, said the old woman, in her surprise and chagrin. 'Thaa cornd be too careful haa thaa talks. Thaa sees trees hes yers as weel as stoan walls. 'Ne'er mind, Mr. Penrose; I were nobbud hevin' her on a bit.
And the mother turned her tearful eyes towards the settle whereon lay the corpse. 'Well, cornd yo' see as God hes finished aar wark for us, and what we made lads, He's made angels on? 'But aw'd sooner ha' kept mine. Angels are up aboon, thaa knows; an' heaven's a long way off. 'Happen noan so far as thaa thinks, lass; and then th' Almeety will do better by 'em nor we con.
As to women why, I suppose I must be silent. 'Ne'er mind, Mr. Penrose; tay's waitin', so come along. Yo' cornd bridle women folks, and it's happen as weel yo' cornd; for if they mutn't talk they'd scrat, and that 'ud be a deal wur. During tea Mr.
Then I coome across th' old flute, and it seemed to say, "I'll help thee agen." "Nay, owd brid," I said, "tha cornd. It's noan brass this time, it's mi lad." And th' owd flute seemed to say, "Try me." So I tuk it up, and put it to mi lips and blew yi, aat of a sad heart, Mr. Penrose but it wor reet. Th' owd flute gi' me back mi prayer grace for grace, as yo' parsons say, whatever yo' mean by't.
'Nay, noan so, Gronny. God cornd love Job better nor I loved him. 'But he willn't ged crushed in a coile seam i' heaven; naa, lass, will he? 'Thaa's reet, Gronny, he willn't. But if He mak's us work here, why does He kill us o'er th' job, as he's killed mi little lad? 'Thaa mun ax Mr. Penrose that, lass; I'm no scholard. 'Aw'll tell thee what it is, Gronny.
'Then yo've yerd naught abaat Moses Fletcher? 'Nowe; nor I durnd want. When yo' cornd yer owt good abaat a mon yo'd better yer naught at all. 'But I've summat good to tell thee abaat owd Moses. 'Nay, lad, I think nod. Th' Etheop cornd change his skin, nor th' leopard his spots. 'But Moses hes ged'n aat o' his skin, and changed it for a gradely good un and o'.
'If thaa'rt noan flayed, that doesn't say thaa hasn't a devil, replied Amos, again raising the can to his lips. 'Well, I'm noan to blame if a' cornd help miself, am I? But Amos remained silent. 'Aw say, Amos, said a thoughtful-looking man, 'aw often wonder if thaa'll be content when thaa geets up aboon to see us lot in t'other shop. 'Happen it will, replied Amos.
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