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He was a remarkably handy man could make or mend anything. So she would say: "I do like that coal-rake of your mother's it is small and natty." "Does ter, my wench? Well, I made that, so I can make thee one!" "What! why, it's a steel one!" "An' what if it is! Tha s'lt ha'e one very similar, if not exactly same." She did not mind the mess, nor the hammering and noise. He was busy and happy.
She would sometimes smoke with him. Occasionally she would only take a few whiffs at his cigarette. "Nay," he said to her one evening, when she reached for his cigarette. "Nay, tha doesna. I'll gi'e thee a smoke kiss if ter's a mind." "I wanted a whiff, no kiss at all," she answered. "Well, an' tha s'lt ha'e a whiff," he said, "along wi' t' kiss."
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