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Yo mun knoa, that somehow ey wor unlucky enough last Yule to offend Mother Chattox, an ever sin then aw's gone wrang wi' me. Th' good-wife con never may butter come without stickin' a redhot poker into t' churn; and last week, when our brindlt sow farrowed, and had fifteen to t' litter, an' fine uns os ever yo seed, seign on um deed. Sad wark! sad wark, mesters.
Boh sin ye mun knoa, it wur Mistress Nutter." "Aha! very good I mean very bad," cried Potts. "What did Mistress Nutter do to you, my little dear? Don't be afraid of telling me. If I can do any thing for you I shall be very happy. Speak out and don't be afraid." "Nay fo' shure, ey'm nah afeerd," returned Jennet. "Boh whot mays ye so inqueesitive?
"Best nah provoke me, mother," rejoined Jennet in a determined tone; "if ye dun, aw secrets shan out. Ey knoa why Jem's goin' to Malkin-Tower to-neet an why yo're afeerd o' Mester Potts." "Howd thy tongue or ey'n choke thee, little pest," cried her mother, fiercely. Jennet replied with a mocking laugh, while Tib rubbed against her more fondly than ever. "Let her alone," interposed Jem.
But I can put you in a way of making your fortune, Jennet, and that's the next best thing to adopting you. Indeed, it's much better in my case." "May my fortune!" cried the little girl, pricking up her ears, "ey should loike to knoa how ye wad contrive that." "I'll show you how directly, Jennet," returned Potts.
Mey honts are itchen for a bowt wi' t' heretic robbers. Walladey! walladey! that we should live to see t' oly feythers driven loike hummobees owt o' t' owd neest. Whey they sayn ot King Harry hon decreet ot we're to ha' naw more monks or friars i' aw Englondshiar. Ony think o' that. An dunna yo knoa that t' Abbuts o' Jervaux an Salley wor hongt o' Tizeday at Loncaster Castle?"
"Yeigh, so it dun, mester," observed old Mitton. "It does not appear to have been disturbed, at all events," said Nicholas, dismounting and examining it. "It would seem not," said Nowell "and yet it certainly is not in its old place." "Yo are mistaen, mester," observed Jem Device; "ey knoa th' lond weel, an this stoan has stood where it does fo' t' last twenty year. Ha'n't it, neeburs?"
She could hardly keep her temper as she said: "Is Miss Conolly seriously hurt?" "Oa, blessed hour! she's kilt. Her head's dhreepin wid blood." Marian shuddered and felt faint again. "Lord Almighty save use, I doa knoa how she done it at all, at all. She must ha fell agin the stoave. It's the dhrink, dhrink, dhrink, that brought her to it.
"This is the very man for us, my excellent client. Your name and abode, friend?" "Harry Mitton o' Rough Lee," replied the old man. "Ey ha' dwelt there seventy year an uppards, an ha' known the feyther and granfeyther o' Ruchot Nutter, an also Alice Nutter, when hoo war Alice Assheton. Ca' me, sir, an aw' ye want to knoa ye shan larn."
"Well resolved, sir," said Potts. "We'n tae th' owd witch, dead or alive," cried Baldwyn. "Alive we must have her alive, good Baldwyn," said Potts. "You must see her perish at the stake." "Reet, mon," cried the miller, his eyes blazing with fury; "that's true vengeance. Ey'n ride whoam an get aw ready fo ye. Yo knoa t' road." So saying, he struck spurs into his horse and galloped off.
"They are both on yon boards. Jem is the man in the tree, and Elizabeth is the owd crone in the red kirtle and high-crowned hat. Yo win knoa her feaw feace when yo pluck off her mask." "The monk is gone," cried Nicholas; "I have kept my eyes steadily fixed on him, and he has melted into air. What has he to do with the Devices?"
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