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Updated: May 18, 2025
I bethowt me o' Janet an' t' birds i' t' cove, an' I brast out a-laughin' while fowks thowt I were daft. "But theer, barns, I mun get forrad wi' my tale, or your mothers will be coomin' seekin' you afore I'm through wi' it. By now ommost all t' birds i' t' cove were wakkened up an' were singin' their cantiest.
"'Shoo's made fowks i' Cohen-eead that thrang wi' wark they've no time to think o' sins. "'An' what have thy flies bin doin' all t' time? asks Satan. 'They've bin laikin', that's what they've bin doin'. They ought to hae bin buzzin' round fowks' heeads an' whisperin' sinful thowts into their lug-hoils. How mony flies does thou keep at Cohen-eead?
"Nay," replied Throup, "her name's Mary, and what fowks puts on t' envelope is Miss Mary Taylor, B.A." "Thou's sure it's 'B.A., and not 'A.B.," said Stackhouse. "I've a nevvy on one o' them big ships, and they tell me he's registered 'A.B., meaning able-bodied, so as t' Admirals can tell he hasn't lossen a limb."
"An' shoo can write too," the postman joined in, "better nor t' parson. I've seen her letters, them shoo writes and them shoo gets sent her. An' there's a queer thing abaat some o' t' letters at fowks writes to her; they put B.A. at after her name." "Happen them'll be her Christian names," suggested Stackhouse. "There's a mak o' fowks nowadays that gets more nor one name when they're kessened."
Efter a while shoo lowered t' wand a bit an' pointed to t' moors, an' then, by t' Mess! curlews gat agate o' singin. Soom fowks reckons that t' song o' t' curlew is dreesom an' yonderly, but I love to harken to it i' t' springtime when t' birds cooms back to t' moors frae t' sea. An' so did t' lass. When shoo heerd t' curlews shoo started laughin' an' dashed t' watter about wi' her foot.
I'd allus been a gooid lass to him, choose what fowks say." Step by step the weaver led her on to tell him the story of what had led up to the shameful transaction in the market-place. It was no mere curiosity that moved him, but a realisation that there could be no peace of mind for Mary Whittaker until she had found relief by unburdening her tortured soul.
I was privileged to listen to one of the tallest of these one evening, after he had paid a visit of inspection to my garden and was smoking a pipe with me under my lime-tree. "Fowks tell queer tales 'bout 'lotments," he began, "but I reckon they're nobbut blether anent t' tale that I could tell o' what happened me last yeer." "What was that, Abe?" I asked.
Then all on a sudden he gat agate o' laughin', for when he saw t' mooin' i' t' watter he bethowt him o' a tale his mother had telled him o' soom daft fowks that had seen t' mooin i' t' watter an' thowt it were a cheese an' started to rake it out wi' a hay-rake. "When Melsh Dick heerd him laughin', he were fair mad.
Well, that made t'owd devil fair mad, for they ought to hae bin i' t' houses temptin' fowks to sin; so he oppened his cake-hoil, thrast out his forked tongue, an' swallowed three on 'em at one gulp. After that he felt a bit better. When it were turned ten o'clock, he crawled alang t' loans an' bridle-stiles, while he gat to Throp's farm. He sidled under t' door and into t' kitchen.
"What I want to know is, if Mary Taylor came here of her own accord, or if her was putten into t' job by other fowks." "I reckon shoo was appointed by t' Eddication Committee." "Appointed, was shoo? I thowt as mich. Then mebbe 'B.A. will stand for 'By appointment." The smith's solution of the problem was received with silence, but the silence implied approval.
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