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Updated: May 8, 2025
He stared hard at Colwyn and then advanced towards him with a grin of recognition. "Yow be lookin' to see how t'owd ma'aster was hulled dune th' pit?" he asked. "I was wondering how far the pit ran straight down," replied Colwyn. "It seems to take a slight slope a little way down. Does it?" "I doan't know narthin' about th' pit, and I doan't want to," replied Mr.
"Tommusisinttarn," said the porter suggestively; which, being interpreted, meant, "Thomas is in the town." "To be sure, for the meat," said Eleanor. "The dog-cart, I suppose?" "And t'owd mare," added the porter. "Well, the boxes must come by the carrier. Come along, Margery, if you don't mind a little bit of walking. We must find Thomas. We have to send down to the town for meat," she added.
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.
Ay, an' t' women fowks gat their chaps to join i' t' wark; there were no settin' off for t' public of a neet, an' no threapin' or fratchin' at t' call-hoils. It was wark, wark, wark, through morn to neet, an' all on account o' Throp's wife an' her spinnin'-wheel. "Well, after a time Cohen-eead had getten that sober an' hard-workin', t'owd devil began to grow a bit unaisy.
That's what t' blue-bottles had bin sayin' to her all t' time, an' all for nowt. Nay, t'owd devil were a sly 'un, an' knew more about Throp's wife nor all t' blue-bottles i' t' world. So he says to her: 'Keziah' they called her Keziah after her grandmother 'thou's t' idlest dawkin' i' Cohen-eead. When arta baan to get agate o' workin'?"
True enough, Mac; but 'twould be hard to convince Cappy Ricks o' that. Every skipper in his employ is a graybeard." "Mayhap," the canny MacLean retorted. "That's because t'owd boy's skippers have held their berths ower long." But Mr. Murphy shook his head.
He had set up the above-mentioned cry from observing a large rat running along the side of the wall. "Theere hoo goes," whooped Jem, "t'owd witch, i' th' shape ov a rotten! loo-loo-loo!" Half the crowd started in pursuit of the animal, and twenty sticks were thrown at it, but a stone cast by Jem stayed its progress, and it was instantly despatched.
Time was short, as the performance was to be that evening, so they dispersed to make their arrangements. Ted Blackwood, a member of the church choir, agreed to bring his father's cart. "I'll take t'owd mare," he grinned. "Shoo's steady, and won't bolt when th' harmonium starts. Aye, I've a big stable lantern as 'ull do too." Here indeed was an excitement for a young American visitor.
"Well, you see," Abe rejoined, "I could tell by t' furnitur that were in it. There was our kitchen-table that I'd bowt at t' sale when t' missus an' me were wed, an' t'owd rockin'-chair set agean t' fire; ay, an' t' pot-dogs on t' chimley-piece an' my father's an' muther's buryin'-cards framed on t' walls; 'twere all plain as life."
"Good lorjus deys!" cried Hal o' Nabs. "An whot else didsta see, mon?" "Whoy," replied Ashbead, "t'owd hags had a little figure i' t' midst on 'em, mowded i' cley, representing t' abbut o' Whalley, ey knoad it be't moitre and crosier, an efter each o' t' varment had stickt a pin i' its 'eart, a tall black mon stepped for'ard, an teed a cord rownd its throttle, an hongt it up."
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