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'T' maister's down i' t' fowld. Go round by th' end o' t' laith, if ye went to spake to him. 'Is there nobody inside to open the door? I hallooed, responsively. 'There's nobbut t' missis; and shoo'll not oppen 't an ye mak' yer flaysome dins till neeght. 'Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph? 'Nor-ne me! I'll hae no hend wi't, muttered the head, vanishing.
"Yes, yes," I replied; "but what I want to know is who Throp's wife really was." "Why," answered Pudsey, "shoo'll happen hae bin t' wife o' a chap they called Throp." Now that was just the answer I might have expected from Pudsey, and I decided to waste no more time there. So I made for the Heavy Woollen District capital letters, if you please, Mr Printer and straightway put my question.
"Nay, shoo'll noan best t' parson," objected Stackhouse who, as "church-warner" for the year, looked upon himself as the defender of the faith, the clergy, and all their works. "Parson's written books abaat t' owd churches i' t' district, who's bin wedded in 'em, and who's liggin' i' t' vaults."
"Nay, it's 'B.A., and fowks wodn't call a lass like Mary Taylor able-bodied; shoo's no more strength in her nor a kitlin." "I reckon it's nowt to do wi' her body, isn't 'B.A.," interposed the Colonel. "Shoo'll be one o' yon college lasses, an' they tell me they're all foorced to put 'B.A. at after their names."
A roar of laughter greeted these words, but nobody had the courage to make a bid. Seeing that purchasers held back, Learoyd after the manner of an auctioneer, proceeded to announce his stepdaughter's "points." "Shoo's a gradely lass, I tell you, for all shoo looks sae dowly. Shoo can bak an' shoo can brew, and I've taen care that shoo'll noan speyk while shoo's spoken to."
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