Chapter III (1)

A change had taken place in the atmosphere since Bessy and Abe had returned. Here and there green patches could be seen on the hill side, and the distant town presented a view of smoke-blackened roofs that shone, dripping with wet as the sickly' sun glanced over them. Little or no snow was to be found in the streets, and all the hideous sights stood out once more rejoicing in their naked deformities.

The giant engine--the factory's heart--was ceasing to beat once more, in order to allow the workers time to swallow the food necessary to enable them to bear up until noon. The gates were opened, and the crowd swarmed forth, but all seemed instinctively directed to a group at a short distance, whose pallid faces reflected the ghastly sight before them. The group soon swelled to a vast crowd. Enquiries were made on every hand by those in the outer circle--"What is it? what is it?" "_Frozen to death._" Tenderly those rough handed, rough-spoken men raised the death-frozen little ones. Some there were who knew them and had heard of their loss. It was to them an easy task to account for their deaths, and curses low but deep were cast on them, at whose doors the blood of those innocents must lie.

The bodies were taken to the nearest inn to wait an inquest. Those in authority were quickly on the alert; whilst some who were acquainted with the parents prepared to carry them the sorrowful tidings.--Poor Bessy! thy cup of bitterness is nearly full!

Old Becca had come according to promise, and found Bessy laid partially upon the bed in a swoon, her arm around the neck of him who had been her faithful partner for a dozen years. She raised her, bathed her forehead, and used all means in her power to promote her recovery. After a short time she was successful; and having prepared the other bed and placed Bessy upon it, she hastily left to get some assistance.

The poor have but the poor on whom they can depend in an emergency; and it is a blessing that the request for help to each other is rarely if ever made in vain.

She soon returned with plenty of willing hands--one took the babe, and others remained to perform the last sad offices to the remains of him who had gone "a little while before." Soon the men arrived with the mournful account of the discovery of the children, but Bessy knew it not. God had had compassion upon her, and to save her heart from breaking, had thrown a cloud over her reason.

Silently they stood for a moment in that house of death; and as they turned to go, one after another placed what money each had, noiselessly upon the table: the whole perhaps did not amount to much, but who shall say that it was not a welcome loan to the Lord--an investment in heaven that should in after time yield to them an interest outweighing the wealth of the whole world?

As the day advanced, numbers gathered round the inn where the coroner and jury were assembled. The usual form of viewing the bodies was gone through; and, with the exception of the girl's ancle, which was found to be dislocated, there appeared nothing to account for death save exposure to the cold.

The coroner quickly summed up, and addressing the jury said--"he did not see how they could bring in any other verdict than 'died from natural causes.'" With one exception all acquiesced, and this one refused to agree to such a verdict, saying that death had been caused by unnatural causes! At last the verdict was altered to "Found frozen to death." To this a juryman wished to add something about arbitrary laws and inhumanity, but he was overruled.

It needed nothing now but to put them in the earth, and cover them up.

The following morning the whistles shrieked as fiercely, the wheels went round as merrily as ever; two other children were in the places of the lost ones, and it was as if they had never been.

The day for the funeral arrived--the father and children were to be interred together. There was a large gathering of sympathising friends. Poor Bessy! had partially recovered, but seemed like one just waking from a dream; the mournful cortege gained the church yard. The coffins were slowly lowered into the grave. The grey-haired pastor's voice was at times almost inaudible--every heart was touched, for all took the case home to themselves, and asked the question, "How if they were mine?" "Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes," and the ceremony was completed.

Few of them had failed to remark the presence of a strange mourner--one whose dress bespoke him to be a gentleman; and as the widow turned to leave the grave, he stept up to her and offered her his arm for support. She took it mechanically, and wended her way to her desolate home. He was the only one, with the exception of Old Becca, who entered with Bessy.

He looked around the forlorn room, gazing now here, now there, to hide his emotion. He seemed about to speak when a knock at the door interrupted him.

Becca opened it, and returned with a letter stating that the bearer required an answer. The stranger took it with an air of authority and broke the seal; as he did so, a five pound note fluttered to the ground. While he read the letter his eyes flashed with a strange fire, and his quivering nostril showed the strength of the passion raging within.

Turning to the boy, he thrust the letter into his hand, and bade him pick up the note. "Take this answer to your master, boy," he said; "we return the letter and his money with disdain, and tell him that Bessy Green is not so desolate and friendless that she needs accept five pounds as the price of two innocent lives. The debt is one that no man can cancel: but the reckoning day is sure to come! tell him that, boy, from the brother of Bessy Green, from the uncle of Tom and Susy."

The boy hurried away with the message; and Bessy, who had been aroused by the stranger's vehemence, at the word "brother," threw herself upon his neck, crying--"It is George!" What follows is quickly told: Bessy's grief was deep, and it took long long months before she was fitted to engage in the ordinary occupations of life; but change of scene and cheerful company, together with the daily expanding beauties of her only child, partially healed her lacerated heart. Her generous brother, who had returned from a distant land,--where fortune had smiled upon his labours--took her to live with him, and adopted her child as his son. Becca and Abe became also installed in the house as helpers; and now, far away from the regions of factory whews, they are all living amicably together.

"That is my story for this; Christmas. How do you like it?"

It is very sorrowful, uncle John, but we are much obliged to you for telling it us, but it is surely wrong for children so young to be compelled to go to work at such an early hour?

"It may not be wrong to require them so to do, but it would at least show a desire on the part of the employers to ameliorate the hardness of their lot if, while endeavouring to enforce strict punctuality, they would provide some shelter for those who, having come from a distance, fail to arrive in time for admission."

"Hark, the village Waits!"

Pill Jim's Progress Wi' Johns Bunion.

It wor a varry wild day when John set off to see Pill Jim, as he wor called, but as it wor varry particklar business, he didn't let th' weather stop him.

Nah, Pill Jim wor a varry nooated chap i' some pairts o' Yorkshire. He wor an old chap, an' lived in a little haase to hissen, an' gate a livin' wi' quack-docterin' a bit; an' whativer anybody ailed, he'd some pills at wor sure to cure 'em; soa, as John had been sufferin' a long' time, he thought he'd goa an' have a bit o' tawk wi' him, an' see if he could get any gooid done.

It chonced, as luck let, at Jim wor at hooam, an' he invited him in, but as he'd nobbut one cheer, John had to sit o'th' edge o'th' long table.

"Well, John," he sed, "an' what's browt thee here this mornin'?"

"Nay, nowt 'at means mich, Jim; but aw've heeard a gooid deal o' tawk abaght thy pills, an' aw thowt they'd happen do me a bit o' gooid; but aw wanted to have a bit o' tawk to thee th' first abaght it, for tha knows one sooart o' physic doesn't do for iverybody."

"Tha'rt just mistakken abaght that, John, for my pills cure owt; they're oppenin' pills, an' although aw'm a chap 'at doesn't like to crack abaght misen, aw con just tell thee a thing or two 'at'll mak thee stare."

"Well, that's what aw want, Jim, s'oa get on wi' thy tellin'."

"Aw hardly know whear to begin, but, hasumiver, aw'll tell thee one thing: ther's lots o' fowk livin' raand abaght here 'at's been oppen'd by em, an' to some tune too; an' although aw consider physic an evil at all times, still my pills must be regarded as a necessary evil. A chap once coom to see me, an' browt a lot o' oysters, but he wor fast ha to get into 'em; aw made noa moor to do but just put two or three pills amang 'em, an' they wor oppen'd in a minit. He sed he'd niver seen sich a thing afoor. An' if tha con keep a secret, aw'll tell thi summat else but tha munnot split. One neet just at th' end o' last summer, a queer-lukkin' chap coom an' sed he didn't feel vary weel, an' he'd come to me becoss he didn't want tother doctors to know; soa aw axed him who he wor. He didn't like to tell me for a bit, but at last he sed' he wor th' Clerk o'th' Weather Office, an' he'd just getten a day off, bi th' way ov a leetnin'.' 'Well,' aw says, 'aw'll gie yo a box o' pills, an' yo mun tak two ivery neet.' He thanked me an' went away, an' aw've niver seen a wink on him sin, but tha may be sure it's them pills 'at we have to thank for sich a oppen winter as we've had, for as aw sed befoor, they'll oppen owt."

"Well, Jim, tha fair caps me! Aw wonder tha hasn't made a fortun befoor nah! But aw dooant think aw want ony pills, tho' aw'm badly enough."

"Why, what does ta ail? Has ta getten th' backwark, or th' heeadwark, or does ta feel wamly sometimes an' cannot ait?"

"Nawther, John; it's summat else nor that."

"Why, is it summat 'at tha has o' thi mind!"

"Noa, it isn't mi mind, it's mi understandin' 'at's 'sufferin'. Th' fact is, Jim, aw'm troubled wi' a bunion."

"Let's luk at it," says Jim, "ther's nowt easier to cure nor a bunion."

John took off his shoe an' stockin', an' when Jim saw it he sed, "Oh, aw see what it wants; it wants bringin' to a heead."

"Well, aw think bi th' rate it's growin', it'll be a heead afoor long, for it's as big as mi neive already."

"Nah, aw'll tell thee what tha mun do. Tak five or six o' thease pills ivery neet till tha feels a bit ov a difference, an' when tha gooas to bed tha mun put thi fooit into a pooltice, an' tha'll find it'll get better as it mends."

"Well, aw think ther's some sense i' what tha says, soa aw think aw'll try some; ha does ta sell 'em?"

"If tha buys a box they're a penny, but they corne in cheaper to buy 'em bi weight, an' as its thee aw'll let thi have a pund for a shillin'; if it wor onybody else, they'd be sixteen pence."

"Well, aw'll tak a pund, onyway. An' if aw can't tak 'em all misen, they'll happen be useful to somdy else."

"Tha mun tak 'em all thisen, an' then tha'll feel th' benefit on em," sed Jim.

"Well," sed John, when he'd getten 'em teed up in his hankerchy, "aw wish yo gooid day, an aw'll come an' see yo in a bit to repoort progress."

John limped hooam as weel as he could, an' after puttin' th' pills into a pint basin i'th' cubbard, he went to bed. His wife axed him what he could like to his supper, but he sed he worn't particklar, soa shoo went daanstairs, an' when shoo luk'd i'th' cubbard, shoo saw this basin o' pills, but shoo thowt they wor pays; soa shoo gate a bit o' mutton an' made a sup o' broth an' put 'em in; an' when they'd been boilin' awhile shoo couldn't find 'em hardly. "Why," shoo sed, "aw niver saw sich pays as theease i' all mi life; they've all boiled to smush." Shoo tuk him a basinful upstairs, an' after a spooinful or two, he sed he thowt they tasted rayther queer. "Oh! it's thi maath at's aght o' order, mun," shoo sed; "get 'em into thee, they're sure to do thee gooid."

John tew'd hard wi' 'em an' at last he finished 'em. "Niver buy ony moor pays at that shop," he sed, "for aw'm sure they're nooan reight.

"Aw didn't buy 'em," shoo sed, "they're what wor i'th' cubbard; aw thowt tha'd put 'em thear thisen."

When John heeard that, he knew in a minit what shoo'd done, an' he stared at her.

"What are ta staring at, wi' thi een an' thi maath wide oppen like that?" sed his wife.

"Tha'd ha' thi een an' thi maath oppen if tha'd swallowed what aw have," he said, "for they'll oppen ewt."

John gate up an' dressed an' went aght, an' as he didn't offer to come back, his wife an' two or three ov his mates went to seek him; an' a few yards off th' door they fan his clooas an' hat an' a pair o' booits, an' in one o'th' booits they fan a bunion,--an' that wor all ther wor left o' John.

It wor rayther a awkard thing to swear to, but his wife sed shoo couldn't be mistakken, for shoo knew it soa weel wol shoo'd be bun to be able to pick it aght ov a looad o' new puttates. Ov cooarse, they'd a inquest, but as ther wor noa evidence, an' sich a case had niver been known befoor, they returned a oppen verdict.

A few days after, as Pill Jim wor gooin' past th' church yard, he saw a chap oppenin' a grave, an' axed him who he wor oppenin' it for; an' when he heeard it wor for th' remains o' poor John, he muttered to hissen, "Noa wonder! noa wonder! them pills, they'll oppen owt. Aw wor sure they'd awther drive th' bunion away throo John, or John away throo th' bunion, which wor for th' best aw connot tell; its an oppen question-- them pills leeave ivery--thing oppen."

Moravian Knight's Entertainment.

If yo want to know owt abaght me, let me tell yo 'at they called mi father Knight, an' when aw wor born he had me kursend Moravian; but noa sooiner did aw begin to laik wi' th' lads abaght ner aw began to be called Morry Neet. Soa mich abaght misen.

Aw oft think 'at fowk mak a sad mistak, i' spendin all ther time leearnin. Aw think if them 'at know soa mich had to spend part o' ther time taichin other fowk what they know, th' world mud ha' fewer philosophers, but it 'ud have fewer fooils. As that's my nooation, awve detarmined to let yo know ha aw gate on th' furst time aw went to a penny readin, an' may be somdy 'll leearn summat bi that.

Awd seen a lot o' bills stuck up for mony a day, statin' at th' 16th select penny readin' wor to tak place i'th' Jimmy Loin National Schooil, an' aw thowt awd goa. Soa when th' neet coom aw went to th' door aw clap daan mi penny like a mon, an' wor walkin in--

"Stop! Stop!" shaated aght th' brass takker, "Tha mun come back, tha's nobbut gien me a penny."

"Aw know aw've nobbut gien thee a penny," aw says; "Ha mich moor does ta want? Its a penny readin, isn't it?"

"Eea, its a penny readin, but its thrippince to goa in," he sed.

"Well, if that's it," aw says, "here's tother tuppince, but awm blowed if aw see it." But aw went in, an' a rare hoilful ther wor. In a bit Alderman Nonowt wor vooated into th' cheer, an' then he made a speech--

"Ladies and Gentlemen--(then he coughed two or three times, an' supt o' watter),--I can assure you 'at nothink gives me greater pleasure, or greater enjoyment, or I might say greater satisfaction, (a varry deal o' clappin i'th' front seeats--supt twice), when I look around me, ladies and gentlemen, and see so many old and familiar faces that I have never seen before, and when I see so many strangers that I have passed long years of social intercourse amongst, I feel, ladies and gentlemen, I feel moved, very much moved, and when I gaze again I begin to feel removed. Our object which we have in view, in keeping agate of giving these here readings, are to throw open the doors of knowledge, so that all may come and drink from the inexhaustible bottle, so to speak, ladies and gentleman, which says 'drink and thirst no more' (great cheering--women wi' cleean pocket hankerchies blow ther nooases). These meetings have also another himportant object, a nobject noble and great, which is namely, to draw people out of the public houses, and create a thirst in them for wisdom. How many men, after a hard day's work, go and sit in the public house, or what is still worse, often spend their time at some thripny concert room until nine or ten o'clock, whereas now they can come here and sit until 10 or 11 o'clock, where they are not only hentertained, but hedicated and hedified. With thease few remarks, I call upon the first reader for a solo on the German concertina."

An' it wor a solo! It reminded me o' being in a bazaar at Fair time, an' abaght a thaasand childer blowin penny trumpets; an' he whewd his arms abaght like a windmill; an' aw wor nooan sooary when he'd done. But fowk clapt an' stamped wol he coom back agean; an' he bow'd an' sed he'd give 'em an immitation o'th' backpipe, an' awve noa daat it wor varry like it, for awm sure noa frontpipe iver made as faal a din. After that th' cheerman made a few remarks an' sed, music had charms to soothe the savage beast, an' he'd no doubt we all felt soothed with what we had heard. He had now the pleasure to call for something of a more elevating nature still. The next reading would be a comic song. "Up in a balloon boys."

Th' chap 'at gave that wor varry wise, for as sooin as he'd begun singin' he shut his een an' niver oppened 'em agean till he'd done, an' if he'd kept his maath shut aw should ha' been better suited still. Ov coorse he wor honcored, an' he coom back an' sang "Be--e--eutifool oil of the Se--e--e--he!" wol he fair fooamd at th' maath, but awl wave mi opinion o' that. Then coom th' gem o'th' evening, an' th' chap wor a gem 'at sang it. Th' cheerman sed he was always proud to be able to sit an' listen to such like, for it show'd what a deal better world ther might be if we all did our best for one another.

Th' peanner struck up, an' a chap in a big white hat an' longlapp'd coit sang "What aw did for Hannah," an' afoor he'd finished aw thowt if he'd done hauf as mich for Hannah as he'd done for us he owt to be shot. But when a chap's i' favor he con do owt, an' when he'd done an' been called back three times, th' cheerman sed it wor now his duty to introduce the Rev'd Dowell to read a selection from Heenuck Harden.

As sooin as he'd sed this ivery body began to walk aght, an' soa as aw thowt they must be gooin into another raam to hear it, aw went aght too. But when awd getten aghtside aw saw they wor all awther leetin ther pipes or laikin at soddin one another. Aw axed one on 'em if it wor all over. "Net it," he sed, "we've nobbut come aght wol yond dry old stick has done talking. Th' best pairt o'th' entertainment has to come off yet! Ther's three single step doncers gooin to contest for a copy ov 'Baxter's Saint's Rest,' bun up wi' gilt edges."

When aw heeard that aw ihowt, well, awm nooa saint misel, but if awm a sinner awl have a bit o' rest, whether it's Baxter's or net. Soa aw walked quitely off hooam, thinkin ha thankful we owt to be at fowk 'll labor as they do to improve an elevate poor workin' fowk. That wor th' end o' my entertainment.

Sperrit Rappin.

Did yo iver goa to a sperrit rappin' doo? Aw did once, but aw can't say it wor mich i' my line.

It happen'd one Setterdy neet 'at aw'd been to have a pint at th' "Rompin Kittlin," an' aw heeard some chaps say 'at ther wor baan to be a meetin i'th' owd wayvin shop o'th' Sundy afternooin, an' iver so mony mediums wor commin to tell all 'at wor gooin on i'th' tother world, soa as awd nowt else to do, aw went, an' after a bit o' thrustin aw managed to get into a front seat: but they wor varry particlar who they let in. As aw wor set, waitin for th' performance to begin, aw thowt it luk'd varry mich like a inquest, for ther wor one chap set o'th' end o't' table, an' six daan each side; an' they wor a lot o'th' rummest lukkin fowk aw'd seen for a long time. They all seem'd as if they wanted sendin aght to grass, for ther faces wor th' color ov a lot o' tallow craps. In a bit they started, an' we all sang a hymn, an' varry weel it wor sung too, considerin 'at that radical gravestoan letterer joined in it; for if ther is ony body 'at can throw a whole congregation aght o' tune, its owd Cinnamon, for he owt niver to oppen his maath onywhear unless all th' fowk is booath deeaf an' blind, for th' seet o' his chowl is enuff to drive all th' harmony aght ov a meetin. Aw dar wager a trifle 'at he'd be able to spoil th' Jubilee. But as aw wor sayin, we did varry weel considerin, an' then th' cheerman gate up an' addressed a few words to us. He sed he'd noa daat 'at ther wor a goaid many amang us 'at didn't believe i' sperrits, but he could assure us 'at ther wor moor i' sperrits sometimes nor what we imagined. He sed he knew one man 'at had been under th' influence ov a sperit, 'at went hooam an' tell'd his wife sich things 'at made her hair stand ov an end, an' when he gate up next mornin he knew nowt abaat it till he saw his wife wor i'th' sulks, an' he ax'd her "what ther wor to do." "Ther's plenty to do, aw think," shoo says; "ha can ta fashion to put thi heead aght o'th' door? But tha can have yond nasty gooid-for-nawt as soain as tha likes, for awst leeave thi if aw live wol awm an haar older! It's a bonny come off, 'at me at's barn ommoss a duzzen children to thi should be shoved o' one side far a thing like yond!" "Why, lass, aw doant know what tha'rt talking abaat," he sed, "tell me what tha meeans!" "Aw've noa need to tell thi," shoo sed, "tha knows weel enuff, an' aw believe ivery word 'at tha sed, for they say 'at druffen chaps an' childer allus spaik th' truth, an' awve suspicioned yond Betty for a long time! What reight has shoo to be dawdlin abaat other fowks husbands for? If shoo wants a felly, let her get one ov her own! But tha may tak her an' welcome, an' mich gooid may shoo do thi, an' may yo allus be as happy together as aw wish vo--an' noa happier! drot her!" "Why, did aw say owt abaat Betty? Tha mun tak noa nooatice o' owt aw say when aw come hooam throo a meetin, tha sees, sin aw wor made a medium, aw ammot allus just i' mi reight senses, an' it isn't me 'at spaiks, it's what's in me." "Eea, an' it wor what wor in thi 'at spaik last neet! Tha's noa need to tell me 'at tha worn't i' thi reight wit, for tha hasn't been that for a long time but aw can tell thi one thing--if tha'rt a medium, awm net gooin to be made one! aw'll awther be one thing or tother, soa if tha'd rayther have yond mucky trolly, tak her; an' may yo booath have a seed i' yor tooith an' corns o' yor tooas, an' be fooarsed to walk daan th' hill, all th' days o' yor lives; that's what aw wish." He talked to her for a long time, but it wor noa use, for yo see shoo'd niver been enlightened, an' all he could say didn't convince her 'at he worn't answerable for all he'd sed an' done; but ov cooarse it's weel known 'at mediums arn't responsible for owt. After a few moor remarks, an' relatin a few moor incidents, he sed "it wor abaat time to begin the serious business 'at had called us together, an' he sed he hooap'd 'at if ony had came to scoff, they'd remain to pay, for they wor sadly i' need o' funds, an' he hooap'd 'at iverybody wod respond liberally, for sperits sich as they dealt in could not be getten o' trust, although they had to be takken that way." Then he knock'd th' table three times wi' his knuckles, an' two o'th' fiddle-faced chaps 'at wor set one o' each side on him, began to wriggle abaat as if they'd getten th' murly grubs. "Stop! stop!" he sed, "one at once, if yo pleease! Brother Sawny had better give his sperit backward for a few minutes, wol we've done wi' Brother Titus's." Soa Sawny gave ovver shakkin hissen, exceptin his heead, an' jumpin onto his feet, he sed, "If awve allus to give way to Titus, awm blow'd if awl come to edify yor lot ony longer." "Husht, husht!" says th' cheerman, "the sperit has takken possession o' Titus already. Will ony o'th' unbelievers ax it a few questions?" Soa aw thowt aw mud as weel be forrad as onybody else, soa aw stood up an' ax'd it furst--

"What did they use to call thi?"

"Mary Jane Wittering."

"Ha long is it since tha deed?"

(Noa answer; soa th' cheerman sed it wor a varry frivolous an' improper question, an' aw mud ax summat else.)

"Wor ta iver wed?"

"Nobbut three times."

"Wor ta allus true to 'em when tha had 'em?"

(No answer; th' cheerman shook his neive at me.)

"Are they livin or deead?"

"One's deead, one's livin, an' one's a medium."

"Has ta met anybody tha knows up i' yor pairts?"

"Monny a scoor."

"Are they happy or miserable?"

"Some one way an' some another."

"Has ta seen onybody at's come latly?"

"Nubdy but a chap they call 'Profit."

"What did they call him 'Profit' for?"

"Aw doant know, unless it's becoss he did soa weel aght o' collectin th' rates afoor he coom here."

"Is he happy?"

"Nut exactly, he's undergooin his punishment, poor chap."

"What is it?"

"He's shut up i'th dark for as monny year as he's charged fowk for feet o' gas 'at they've niver burned; an' bi what awve heeard some o'th older end o'th sperits say, it seems varry likely 'at eternity will ha getten farish in, befoor he sees leet agean."

"Is he tormented wi' owt?"

"Nowt but his conscience."

"Ha's that?"

"He hadn't one when he coom, soa he's had to tak one at's been left bi somdy else, an' it pricks him sadly."

"Then it seems his brass willn't save him?"

"Noa, for yo know, 'Wi whatsoever metre yo measure, to yo it'll be measured agean."

"Is ther owt to ait an' drink i' yor quarter?"

"Noa, they've shut all th' shops up, an' it's time they shut thine up, for aw'm stall'd o' tawkin to thi?"

Aw wor baan to ax him summat else, but he began to wriggle agean, an' th' cheerman sed th' sperit wor takkin its departure, an' in a minute he oppened his een, an luk'd raand as sackless as if he had nobbut just wakken'd. "Nah, my dear friend," sed th' cheerman, turnin an' spaikin to me, "aw hooap yo're satisfied. Does ta believe i' what this sperit has communicated?"

"Well," aw says, "to tell the th' truth, aw can't say 'at aw awther believe in it or net, for aw've noa proof, but if aw sed owt aw should be inclined to say 'net'--but still it saands varry likely what one might expect, an' that's all aw can say abaat it at present."

"Be sure tha comes to awr meetin next Sundy," he sed, "an' aw can see 'at tha'll sooin be one on us." An' for that reason aw niver went agean, for aw couldn't help thinkin 'at if aw wanted to be a medium for sperits, 'at awd rayther get a owd licensed haase an' start reight.

Wol this had been gooin on, awd heeard a chap an' his wife, 'at sat cloise to me, talkin a gooid deal, an' aw varry sooin fan aght 'at shoo wor tryin to mak him believe as mich i' sperits as shoo did, an' ivery time th' medium answered one o' my questions shoo nudged him, an' sed "Does ta hear that? Its ivery word as true as gospel? Does ta believe it nah?" After shoo'd axed him two or three times, he sed, "Well, its varry wonderful, an' aw do begin to think 'at there's summat in it." "A'a!" shoo sed, "aw knew tha'd believe if aw could get thi to come." It wor Sawney's turn next to be entranced, as they call it, an' as sooin as th' sperit had takken possession on him (which seemed to be a varry hard task, an' aw dooant know wether it went in at his maath or whear), this woman 'at set aside o' me jumped up an' axed if shoo mud be allowed to put a few questions.

Th' cheerman sed shoo mud an' welcome, soa shoo began--

"Ha old am aw?"--"Fifty-two."

"Am aw married or single?"--"Married."

"Ha monny childer have aw?"--"Four."

"Nah," shoo says, turning to her husband, "isn't it true?"

"Yos, its true enuff," he sed, "aw believe there's summat in it, but aw should like to ax a question or two misen."

"Why, jump up, then, an' luk sharp an' start," shoo sed.

So he started--

"Ha old am aw?"--"Fifty-three."

"Nah then! didn't aw tell thi! does ta believe it nah?" shoo sed.

"Am aw married or single?"--"Married."

"True agean, tha sees," sed his wife.

"Ha monny childer have aw?"--"Two."

"Two! Then if my wife's four whose, is tother two?"

As sooin as shoo heeard that, an' befoor th' medium had time to spaik, shoo seized hold ov her umbrella, an'lauped off her seat towards whear th' medium wor set, an' aw fancy if th' umbrella nop had made acquaintance wi' his heead i'th' way shoo'd intended, 'at it wodn't ha taen long to untrance that chap. But th' cheerman saw her comin, an' managed to stop it, but it wor noa easy job to quieten her. "A'a, tha lyin gooid-for- nowt!" shoo sed, "has ta come here slanderin daycent wimmin? Aw defy awther onybody i' this world or onybody i'th' tother to say owt agean my karractur! Yor a lot o' himposters, ivery one on yo, that's what yo are! Come on, Jim," shoo sed to her husband, as shoo seized hold ov his arm, "let us goa, its nooan a fit place for gradely fowk."

"Dooant be i' sich a hurry," he sed, "aw begin to think ther's summat in it."

"Summat in it! Has ta noa moor sense nor to believe in a lot o' lyin vagabones like thease? Let's get hooam, they're nooan fit spots for daycent fowk, an' aw hooap awst niver catch thi i' one agean! Come on!"

"Why, tha browt me, didn't ta? an' tha seemd to believe in it."

"Eea, aw believed' em soa long as aw knew what they tell'd me wor true, but as sooin as they start lyin, aw can't believe 'em then; but aw wish awd hold o' that chap's toppin, an' awd shake th' truth aght on him, or else awd rive his heead off--nasty low-lived sneak as he is! But come on hooam, an if tha waits wol aw bring thi agean, tha'll wait wol tha'rt a thaasand year old, an moor ner that."

They went aght, an in a bit quietness wor restored.

After a few moor remarks, th' cheerman sed 'at it wor too far on i'th' day for ony moor sperits to be sent for, for th' mediums had another meeting to attend that neet, soa he read aght another hymn, an' we tried to sing it to th' tune ov "Sweet spirit, hear mi prayer," but we couldn't, for Cinnamon wor too mich for us all--he wor a deal better brayer nor prayer, an' after one or two moor tries, th' cheerman sed "'at unless that gentleman (lukkin at Cinnamon) wod awther swallow a scaarin--stooan an' a pund o' sweet sooap to clear his voice, or else keep his maath shut, we should have to leave singin aght o'th' question altogether." But Cinnamon worn't to be put daan; an' he tell'd th' cheerman 'at if he didn't know what singin wor he did, an' when he wor in Horstraly (A voice--"What does ta know abaat Horstraly, tupheead, tha niver went noa farther ner Burtonheead i' all thi life"). This ryled Cim, an' he up wi' a stooil an' whew'd it slap at th' cheerman. Aw saw ther wor likely to be a row, for whativer other sperit wor thear, aw could see plain enuff 'at th' sperit o' mischief wor i' some on 'em, soa aw crept up beside th' door an' pop'd aght, an' left 'em to settle it as they could.

Aw met Cinnamon th' next mornin, an' aw saw 'at he'd a gurt plaister ov his nooas, an' aw couldn't help thinkin what a blessin it wod ha been to some fowk if it had been stuck ovver his maath asteead.

Ther's a Mule I' th' Garden.

(This expression is one that I have often heard used in Yorkshire to some unpleasantness being afoot.)

A Christmas Story.

Hark thi lass, what a wind! it's a long time sin we had sich a storm. Folk ought to be thankful 'at's getten a warm hearthstooan to put ther feet on, sich weather as this:--unless it alters it'll be a dree Kursmiss-day. If ony poor body has to cross this moor to neet, they'll be lost, as sure as sure con be.

It's a fearful neet reight enuff, lad, an' it maks me creep cloiser to th' range,--but it's th' sooart o' weather we mun expect at this time o' th' year. It's a rare gooid job tha gate them peats in, for we stand i' need ov a bit o' fire nah. Does ta mean to sit up all th' neet same as usual?

Eea, aw think ther's nowt like keep in up th' owd customs, an' we've niver missed watchin Kursmiss in sin we wor wed, an' that'll be nearly forty year sin; weant it? Shift that canel, sithee' ha it sweals! Does'nt to think tha'd better ligg summat to th' dooar bottom? Hark thi what a wind! Aw niver heeard th' likes; it maks th' winders fair gender agean. Soa, soa; lend me owd o' that pooaker, aw shall niver be able to taich thee ha to mend a fire aw do think. Tha should never bray it in at th' top;--use it kindly mun, tha'll find it'll thrive better; it's th' same wi' a fire as it is wi' a child--if you're allus brayin' at it you'll mak it a sad un at th' last, an' niver get nowt but black luks. But its net mich use talkin' to thee aw con see, for tha'rt ommost asleep; aw believe if th' thack ud to be blown off tha couldn't keep thi e'en oppen after ten o'clock; but use is second natur ommost, an' aw feel rayther sleepy mysen, aw allus do when ther's a wind."

* * * * * * *

In two or three minutes they wor booath hard asleep, but they had't to sleep long, for ther coom a knock at th' door laad enuff to wakken deeaf Debra (an shoo couldn't hear thunner). Th' owd man started up an flew to oppen th' door, an' in stawped a walkin' snow-drift.

"Aw wish yo a merry Kursmiss," he said.

"Thank thi lad; come a bit nearer th' leet. If tha's browt noa better luk nor tha's browt weather, tha'd better ha stopped at hooam. Who art ta?"

"Well, its a bonny come off," said th' chap, "when my own uncle connot own me."

"Its nooan Ezra, is it?" said th' owd woman.

"That's my name, aw believe, aunt," he said.

"Waw, do come an' sit thi daan. Set that kettle on lad, and mak him a drop o' summat warm; he'll do wi' it."

It worn't long afoor th' new comer wor sat i'th' front o'th' fire, smookin' a long pipe an' weetin' his whistle ivery nah an then wi' a drop o' whiskey an' watter.

"Nah lad," said th' owd man, "what news has ta browt? Tha's generally summut new."

"Aw've nowt mich uts likely to be fresh, aw dooant think," said Ezra. "Yo'd hear tell abaght that do o' Slinger's aw reckon?"

"Niver a word, lad; what's th' chuffin heead been doin?"

"Well, aw'd better start at th' beginnin' o' my tale, an' as it's rayther a longish en, you mun draw up to th' fire and mak up yor mind to harken a bit."

"Yo happen niver knew Molly Momooin? Shoo lived at Coldedge, an' used to keep one o' them sooart o' spots known i' thease pairts as a whist shop; yo'll know what that is? Shoo worn't a bad-like woman, considerin' her age (for shoo wor aboon fifty, an' had been a widdy for a dozen year), an iver sin her felly deed, shoo'd sell'd small drink o'th sly (they dooant think its wrang up i' them pairts), an ther wor at said it wor nooan of a bad sooart, tho shoo used to booast at ther wor niver a chap gate druffen i' her haas, tho ther'd been one or two brussen. Like monny a widdy beside, at's getten a bit o' brass together, shoo wor pestered wi' chaps at wanted to hing ther hats up, an put ther feet o' th' hearthstooan, an' call thersen th' maister o' what they'd niver helped to haddle. But shoo wornt a waik-minded en, wornt Molly:--an shoo tell'd em all at th' chap at gate her ud have to have a willin' hand as well as a warm heart, for shoo'd enuff to do to keep hersen, withaat workin' her fingers to th' booan for a lump o' lumber ith' nook.

Soa one after another they all left off botherin' her except one, an that wor Jim o' long Joan's, throo Wadsworth, an he seemed detarmined to get her to change her mind if he could. As sooin as iver shoo oppened th' shuts in a mornin', he used to laumer in an' call for a quart (that cost him three-awpence, an used to fit him varry weel woll nooin). Well, things nother seemed to get farther nor nearer, for a long time, but one day summat happened at made a change ith' matter. It wor just abaght th' time at th' new police wor put on, an Slinger wor made into one. Nah Slinger thowt he ought to be made into a sargent, an he said "he wor determined to extinguish hissen i' sich a way woll they couldn't be off promotionin' him, an if they didn't he'd nobscond." Soa th' furst thing he did wor to goa an ligg information agen owd Molly sellin' ale baght license. Th' excise chaps sooin had him an two or three moor off to cop th' owd lass ith' act, for they said, "unless they could see it thersen they could mak nowt aght." It wor a varry nice day, an' off they set o' ther eearand.

Nah it just soa happened at Jim o' long Joans (they used to call him Jimmy-long for short), wor lukin' aght oth' winder, an' saw em comin'; ther wor noabody ith' haas drinkin' but hissen, soa emptyin' his quart daan th' sink, he tell'd Molly to be aware, for ther wor mischief brewin'; an then he bob'd under th' seat. In abaght a minit three on em coom in,--not i' ther blue clooas an silver buttons, but i' ther reglar warty duds.

"Nah, owd lass," said one, "let's have hauf-a-gallon o' stiff-shackle, an luk sharp."

"What do yo want, maister? I think yo've come to th' rang haase; do yo tak this to be a jerry-hoil; or ha?" said Molly. (They'd ta'en care to leave Slinger aghtside, cos they knew he'd be owned.)

"Nay, nah come," they said, "its all reight mun, here's th' brass, sithee, fotch a soop up, for we're all three as dry as a assmidden."

"Why, if yo are reight dry," shoo says (an bith' mass they wor, for they'd been walkin' a bit o' ther best), "ther's lots o' watter ith' pot under th' table, but be as careful as yo con, for it bides a deal o' fotchin'--but aw wodn't advise yo to fill yor bellies o' cold watter when yo're sweatin', its nooan a gooid thing mun. Have yo come fur? Yo luk as if yo'd been runnin' aght oth' gate o' summut, but aw hope yo've been i' noa sooart o' mischief: hasumever, sit yo daan an cooil a bit."

They set em daan, for they wor fessened what to do, an at last one on em whispered, "aw believe Slinger's been havin' us on, seekin' th' fiddle, but if he has, we'll repoort him an get him discharged like a shot."

"Why," said another, "ha is it he isn't here? Where's he gooan?"

"He's hid hissen ith' pigcoit just aghtside. Aw expect he'll be ommost stoled o' waitin' bi this, but let him wait, he desarves it for bringin' folk o' sich eearands as theease, We'st nobbut get laft at when we get back, soa what think yo if we goa an say nowt abaght it? He'll nooan stop long aw'll warrant."

"Well, nowt but reight," they said; soa biddin' th' owd woman gooid day, they set off back. When they went aght, Jimmy crope throo under th' langsettle, an' lukin' at Molly, he said, "Nah, have aw done thi a gooid turn this time owd craytur?"

"Tha has, Jim, an aw'm varry mich obleeged to thi, lad," shoo says, "an tha shall have another quart at my expense."

"Net yet, thank thi, Molly. Aw havn't done wi this--ther's a bit ov a spree to be had aght on it yet mun, aw heeard ivery word at they said, an what does ta think! They've left Slinger ith' pigcoit waitin', an aw meean to keep him theear for a bit." Soa sayin,' he quietly crept aght, an went raand to th' back o' th' pigcoit.

"Slinger! are ta thear?"

"All reight, lad; have yo fun ought?"

"Nut yet, but we're just gooin to do; tha munnat stir, whativer tha does. Its a rare do is this. It'll be th' makin' on us, mun."

"Does ta think we shall get made into sargents?" axed Slinger.

"I lad, an corporals too, aw'll be bun; but bowd thi whisht, whatever tha does--we'll come for thi as sooin as we want thi; does ta think tha could sup a drop o' summat if tha had it?"

"Aw wish aw'd chonce, that's all.'"

"Well, bide thi time, an aw'll send thi some."

Jim then walked away, an leavin' Slinger screwed up like a dishclaat, he went into th' haase, and call'd for a quart.

"Well, what's come o' Slinger?" said Molly.

"Oh, he's all reight--he's gooin through his degrees to get made into a sargent or a corporal or some other sort ov a ral, but aw'll bet he'll wish it wor his funeral afoor aw've done wi' him."

Jimmy sat comfortably suppin' his stiffshackle an smokin' a bit o' bacca, an tried by all th' means in his power to wheedle th' owd woman into his way o' thinkin'.

"Tha mud do wor nor ha' me mun" he said, "aw'm nut ovver handsome aw know, but ther's nowt abaght me to flay onybody."

"Ther'll nubby be freetened o' thee lad, tha need'nt think," shoo says, "for tha reminds me ov a walkin' cloaas peg--if tha'd been split a bit heigher up tha'd ha' done for a pair o' cart shafts."

"Well tha knows beauty's i'th eye o'th beholder," says Jim.

"They'd be able to put all thy beauty i' ther e'e an see noa war for it," shoo says.

"Well, aw'm willin' to work an keep thi a lady as far as th' brass 'll gaa."

"What mack ov a lady aw should like to know? Th' same as aw am nah aw reckon, up to th' elbows i' soap suds. But once for all aw want thi to understand at aw'm nooan i'th weddin' vein at present."

"Well tha'rt a hard-hearted woman, that's what tha art--an nooan as gooid ith' bottom as tha mud be, or else tha'd niver live here chaitin' th' excise for a livin', astead o' being th' wife ov a daycent chap. Aw ommost wish aw'd letten them chaps catch thi; it ud nobbut ha sarved thi reight."

"Sarved me reight, wod it? Well tha con goa an fotch Slinger aght o' th' pigcoit (for aw reckon he's thear yet), but ha mich better ar ta, at sits thear suppin' it? But whether aw'm as gooid as aw should be or net, aw'm sure tha'rt a gooid-for-nowt, an th' sooiner tha taks thi hook aght o' this haase an' th' better, for aw've studden thy nonsense woll aw'm fair staled. Are ta baan? For if tha doesn't tha'll get this poaker abaght thi heead."

"Nay! Nay! tha doesn't mean it?" said Jim, jumpin' aght o'th gate, "tha wodn't hurt me surelee?"

"Hurt thi! drabbit thi up, tha's spun me to th' length--ger aght o' that door."

Jimmy kept backin' aght step by step, an' Molly wor flourishin' th' poaker, but nother on em saw at th' peggy-tub wor fair i'th gate woll Jim backed slap into it. Splash went th' watter o' ivery side, an' Molly skriked, "A'a dear! sarved thi reight, as if tha could'nt see a whole tub! What are ta splashin' like that for?"

But poor Jimmy couldn't spaik, for he wor wedged as fast as a thief in a miln, an' nowt but his legs an' his arms could be seen. Molly catched howd on his legs an' tried to pool him aght, but th' heigher shoo lifted his feet an' th' lower sank his heead, soa ther wor noa way to do but to roll it over an' teem him aght.

"This beats all," says Molly, as shoo helped him up, "couldn't ta see it?"

"Does ta think aw've a e'e i' th' back o' my heead?" he said, "it's all long o' thee, an' dang it that watters whoot."

"It's like to be whoot," shoo says, "did ta iver know folk wesh i' cold watter, tha lumphead?"

"Well, what shall aw have to do? Aw'm as weet as a sop, to say nowt ov a blister or two.

"Tha mun goa thi ways to bed an' throw thi clooas daan th' stairs an, aw'll see if aw connot dry 'em off for thi."

Soa up stairs he went an' flang his weet things daan, sayin' at th' same time, "If tha finds any buttons off tha can suit thisen whether tha puts 'em on or net."

"Aw've summat else to do nor sew for thee, tha's made we wark enuff," shoo said.

It did'nt tak long for Molly to dry th' cloas an' shoo raylee felt sooary for him after all, soa shoo set too an' stitched him a button or two on, an' as shoo said, "mensened him up a bit for he wor somebody's poor lad."

He wor sooin drest nice an' comfortable agean an' then he thowt it wor time to goa an' see what had come o' Slinger.

As sooin as he coom near th' coit he could hear him snoaring away ommost as laad as a trombone. "Well tha'rt a bonny en" he said "to be paid aght o'th rates for keeping a sharp luk aght. Aw did think to bring thi summat to sup but its a pity to disturb thi. Aw'll try another dodge an see ha' that'll act."

Away he went an' in a minit or two coom back wi a huggin o' strea, an' quietly oppenin th' door he shoved it in,--he then walked off mutterin "tha'll be capp'd when tha wackens owd lad."

As th' day began to grow shorter a few owd faces began to peep in to see ha Molly wor gettin on an' to taste ov her drink. When ther'd getten abaght a hauf a duzzen on em Jim slipped aght an' sammed up all he could find i'th' shape o' buckets an' had em filled wi watter an' not o' th' cleanest sooart,--then he lit a wisp o' strea just aghtside o'th' pighoil door an' waited wall th' smook had begun to curl nicely up:-- then he darted into th' haase an' bawled aght "Heigh lads! do come,-- somdy's set th' pighoil o' fire."

Aght they flew an' sure enuff thear it wor reekin away' like a brick kiln.

"Sleck th' inside first," says Jim, an' in a twinklin one pailful after another wor splashed in. Slinger sooin wacken'd but he wor fast what to mak on it,--he thowt he must be dreamin ov a storm at sea or summat.

"Howd on! Howd on!" he yell'd aght "what have yo agate?"

"Do luk sharp lads," says Jim, "ther's somdy inside they'll be burnt to th' deeath. Bring some watter some on yo."

"Ther is noan," they says, "its all done."

"Why mucky watter 'll sleck as weel as clean, give us howd of a pailful o' swill. We munnot have th' poor body burnt to th' deeath."

Just as Slinger was rushin aght o'th' door he gate a reglar dooas 'at ommost floor'd him.

"Nah lads, lets stop a bit, says Jim, aw think th' dangers ommost ovver,--lets see who this chap is. It's happen somdy at wanted to burn owd Molly aght o' haase an' harbor."

Slinger brast aght o'th' door like a roarin lion,--but he wor sooin collard, an' he wor soa bedisend with soft cake an' puttaty pillins at his own mother could'nt ha owned him.

"Dooant yo know who aw am," he sputtered aght, "Awm Slinger, yo know me."

"Bith mass it is Slinger," said Jim,--"its noabdy else," whativer has ta been dooin to get into a mess like this? Tha may thank thy stars tha worn't burnt to th' deeath."

"Well aw dooant know 'at it means mich whether a chap's burnt or draand, but awther on 'em befoor being smoord,--did iver ony body see sich a seet as aw am?"

"Why tha luks like a sheep heead wi brain sauce tem'd over it, said one."

"He needn't carry a scent bottle wi' him, they'll be able to smell him withaat," said another.

"Ha shall aw have to get clean," says Slinger. "Aw can't goa hooam this pictur?"

"Tha'll have to get sombdy to scrape thi daan, unless tha thinks tha's getten enuff o'th' scrape tha'rt in already;--but aw think tha'd better goa hooam to th' wife an' tell her tha's comed."

"He's noa need to do that, if shoo's ought of a nooas sho'll find it aght.