Chapter III: Part 3

Sammywell sed nowt, but as th' teah began to warm him an th' muffins wor just to his likin his face seemed to clear a bit, an when shoo handed him his second cup, he wink'd at her, (he couldn't help it.) "This is a drop o' gooid teah, lass, an aw think aw nivver had grander muffins."

"Aw've tried to suit thi. Has ta fed that galloway an left it comfortable for th' neet?"

"As comfortable as it desarves! But aw did'nt know 'at a whiteweshed umberella-stand wanted makkin comfortable."

"Aw know its all reight for tha hasn't a heart i' thi belly to hurt a flee. What time does ta intend to start off i'th mornin."

"Mak thi own time. But aw thowt tha didn't care to goa."

"It's what aw've been langin for for years, an tha knows, Sammywell, if aw do say a word nah an agean at doesn't just suit thi, its becoss tha aggravates me. If tha'd treeat me as a wife owt to be treated, aw should nivver utter a wrang word."

"Well, tha artn't th' only one i' this haase at gets aggravated sometimes, but we'll say noa moor abaat it. Try an bi ready bi ten o'clock i'th mornin, an we'll start aght if its fine."

"But tha doesn't feel cross abaat it, does ta lad."

"Cross, behanged! If aw tuk onny nooatice o' what tha says, aw should allus be cross. Let's get to bed."

------------

Next mornin Mally wor soa flustered wol when Grimes coom in to his braikfast after lukkin to th' galloway, her hands tremmeld soa at shoo could hardly teem aght his teah.

But shoo managed to get donned at last, an Sammywell browt th' galloway an th' little trap to th' door, an he felt a bit narvous too, for it wor th' furst time he'd ivver driven aght wi his wife, but he wor praad to do it, an his pride kept him up.

They wor i' hooaps o' gettin off withaat Hepsabah an th' naybors gettin to know, but it wor noa use. Sombd'y seen th' galloway, an when Sammywell helpt Mally into her seat, they wor all aght.

Hepsabah stood thear, wi a babby o' awther arm, an Jerrymier at her side, an as they rode past, shoo put on as humble a luk as shoo knew ha, an dropt a curtsey, an sed "Gooid mornin, Mr. and Mrs. Grimes, Esquire." Then shoo brast aght laffin an all th' naybor wimmen waved ther approns or towels or owt else they could snatch howd on, an cheered em wol they gate aght o'th bottom o'th fold.

They tuk th' shortest cut to get aght o'th busy streets, an they worn't long befoor they coom to whear ther wor green fields on booath sides o'th rooad. It wor a grand day, an they sed little for a while, for they wor booath feelin varry happy, an they lukt it.

Old as they wor, an i' spite ov all th' ups an daans they'd had, they felt like sweethearts agean, an if they couldn't luk forrad to th' long enjoyment ov monny pleasures, they could luk back wi few regrets, an hearts full ov thankfulness for all th' blessins they'd had an possessed.

"Aw nivver thowt, Sammywell," sed Mally, after a bit, "at aw should ivver live to ride i' mi own carriage an pair."

"Why, lass, awm pleased if tha'rt suited. But tha can hardly call it a carriage an pair."

"Aw dooant see why net. Its a varry nice little carriage is this an awm sewer th' galloway an thee mak a gooid pair, for aw should tak yo to be booath abaat th' same age, an th' same complection to nowt, except for thi nooas; an yo nawther on yi ivver hurried yorsen mich or seem likely to do; but aw think if aw wor thee awd get aght an shove behind a bit, its a pity to see it tewin up this hill, an its puffin like all that."

"Well, let it puff! If ther's onny shovin to be done tha'll ha to tak thi share on it. We'll stop at yond haase at top o'th hill an then wol we get a bite an a sup, Fanny can rest a bit."

"Who's Fanny?"

"That's th' galloway's name."

"Then it'll have to be kursend ovver agean."

"Ha's that?"

"Dooant thee think 'at aw forget. It wor Fanny Hebblethwaite at wor allus hankerin after thee until we wor wed, an for some time after. Aw've had enuff o' Fannys. We'll call it Jerrymier."

"But its a mare tha sees."

"Well then, we'll call it Jimmima."

"Let's mak it Jenny an ha done wi it."

"Owt'll do but Fanny. Shoo wor a impotent hussy. Aw wonder what becoom on her?"

"Aa! shoo's been deead aboon a duzzen year?"

"Oh, well then--tha can call it Fanny."

They did enjoy thersen that day an noa mistak, an monny a day after, an they're lukkin forrad to monny a pleasant little time.

Th' naybors have getten used to seein em nah an have noa desire to poak fun at em.

Jerrymier has takken a big fancy to th' galloway, an oft gooas an gethers it a basket full ov sweet clover, an when Grimes an Mally arn't using it, Hepsabah an her babbies have a drive throo th' park, Jerrymier acting as th' cooachman.

Th' galloway knows its getten a gooid hooam. It wants for nowt,--Mally taks gooid care o' that. It's one to be trusted an it knows its way abaat. Some day yo may see an old galloway, pullin a little carriage containin an old man an woman;--all three on em saand asleep, an yo can rest assured at that's Grime's an Mally an ther Galloway.

True Blue; A Romance of Factory Life.

Susy was only twenty-two, and she had been a widow for over twelve months. She had married when only nineteen, a honest hard working man who was more than twice her age. There had been no love in the match, so far as she was concerned;--she was an orphan,--poor,--lonely, and pretty.

She was only a weaver, and not very expert, yet she managed to make sufficient to pay her board and to keep herself well dressed, for the position she occupied, and her beauty,--for she was very beautiful, and her natural taste enabled her to present an appearance so much superior to those with whom she was in daily contact, that many envied her, and some looked askance at her, and shook their heads, and predicted evil to come.

Some one had dubbed her 'the Factory Belle,' but she never resented what many would have considered insults or slights, but kept on in her own innocent, yet attractive and attentive way, and commanded a certain amount of respect even from those who were secretly her enemies.

No one would for a single moment suspect that she was a widow, for not only was she so young, but looked even younger. That her husband had worshipped her was not difficult of belief, and that she had been to him a kind, fond wife was indisputable;--her gratitude for his kindness and his self-sacrifices to secure her happiness had been such, that if she did not love him with the blind infatuation of youth's fond dream, she respected him, and he was first in her then unawakened affections.

When he was suddenly stricken down with a fell disease which was at that time ravaging many of the towns in the West Riding, she nursed him faithfully, and when he died,--holding her little white hand in his brown, brawny fist, she shed the bitterest tears that had ever dimmed her beautiful blue grey eyes.

After the last sad rites were over, she had disposed of the household furniture, which was all he had been able to leave her, and paid every claim that was presented, finding herself once more alone, and dependent on her own exertions for a living.

She had plenty of sympathizing friends, and more than one would willingly have provided for her in the hope that at some future time they might win her for themselves, but she was of a very independent spirit and preferred to depend on her own efforts to provide for her wants.

She had no difficulty in obtaining employment at the weaving shed where she had worked before her marriage; and right welcome did her fellow workers make her, and the look of sadness which for a time clouded her face, though it did not detract her from her beauty,--by degrees cleared off,--her eyes sparkled as before,--the bloom came back to her velvet cheeks and her lips curled again into the bewitching smile that suited them so well, and with her added years, were developed charms that she had not possessed before.

Her swelling bust accentuated her tapering waist, and her beautifully rounded arms, her well shaped, small hands,--her graceful carriage, all combined to produce a perfect specimen of Yorkshire female lovliness.

Where hundreds were employed, it was not to be expected she would lack admirers. She had many,--many more than she even imagined.

Though almost faultless in face and figure, yet she was not without some faults.

She knew she was beautiful, and she was vain. Much of her apparent artlessness was assumed. She was pleased to be admired, and felt gratified to see the effect of her glance, as she favoured one with a languishing look, and another with a haughty stare, or a wicked, sparkling, mischief loving gleam,--transient on her part but fatally permanent on susceptible hearts.

In her own heart she had never felt love,--she had never sounded the depths of her own nature;--she was as yet a stranger to herself.

Amongst others, who were ever ready at her beck and call were two young men,--both about her own age.--They are both dead now or this story would not have been written. We will simply speak of them as Dick and Jack. One was the overlooker under whom she worked, this was Dick, a prime favourite with the masters, and a clever, honest chap he was.

Jack was known as "Th' oiler," his duty being to attend to the long lines of shafting and revolving pullies. Much of his work, especially the more dangerous part of it, had to be performed whilst the engine was stopped.

Never were known two truer friends than Dick and Jack. After working hours they were seldom separated. They worked together in the little allotment garden which they jointly rented. Even the pig was a partnership concern. Although they were friendly with all they came in contact with, they never made any other special friendships. They were satisfied to be with each other and so confidential were they, that they each lived in the other's life.

Nicknames were common at that day, and Dick was generally spoken of as "True Blue," because of his unswerving integrity. Jack had to be content with the less euphonious title "Th' oiler."

They were neither of them blind to Susy's charms, and admiration blended with pity, and pity, where a beautiful woman is concerned, is likely to lead to something else. They often spoke of her to each other, but it was the only subject on which they ever conversed, that they were not entirely open and honest about. Dick's position gave him many opportunities to be near Susy, and it was remarked that her loom seemed to require more attention than any other under his surveillance.

Susy, with that quick instinct which all women seem to be possessed, saw that he was at her mercy. But she loved her liberty. She had tasted such bliss as married life could offer,--so she thought, and she preferred to feel free to smile on whom she pleased. She was virtuous, and kind, after a fashion, but she was fast becoming a coquet,--a flirt. In her little world she was a queen, and the homage of one did not satisfy her. Hearts were her playthings,--they amused her, and she liked to be amused.

One day, during the dinner hour;--she had brought her dinner to the mill, which was her invariable custom, as the house where she lodged was a considerable distance from the works;--she was sitting in a retired corner in an adjoining room, when looking up she saw Dick standing close by her and regarding her with such a longing, yet troubled look, that although she laughed, and was about to make some flippant remark, she checked herself, and made room on the little bench for him to sit.

"Why, Dick," she said, as he took his place beside her, "what's to do? Has th' boiler brussen, or are we going on strike?"

"Nay, Susy, its summat moor serious nor that. Aw thowt aw should find thee here. Aw hope tha arn't mad at aw've come."

"What should aw be mad for? Tha's as mich reight to be here as me,--an if it comes to that aw suppooas we've nawther on us onny business here an aw think aw'll be gooin."

"Net just yet, Susy;--stop a minnit,--aw've summat to say. Its varry particlar. Can't ta guess what it is?"

"Aw dooant know unless tha'rt gooin to find fault abaat mi piece, an awm sewer aw've done mi best wi it, but yond warp's rotten."

"Its nowt abaat thi wark, its moor important to me nor all th' wark i'th shed. O, Susy, awm sewer tha must know what aw want to say. Tha connot be blind, an tha must know at awm fonder on thi nor o' onnybody i' all this world. Tha knows ha bonny tha art, an tha knows tha's nobbut to put up thi finger an tha can have onny single chap i'th shop, but, believe me, Susy,--ther isn't one at can ivver love thi as aw love thi. Aw'll work for thi throo morn to neet, an tha shall be th' happiest woman i'th world if its i' my paar to mak thi soa. What says ta? Aw willn't hurry thee if tha wants time to think abaat it,--but tell me,--is ther onnybody at tha likes better?"

"Why, Dick, tha's fairly knockt th' wind aght o' me. Tha sewerly forgets at awm a widdy. A young chap like thee doesn't owt to be lukkin after widdys, when ther's soa monny single young lasses abaat waitin for chaps."

"It'd mak noa difference to me if tha wor a widdy twenty times ovver. Tha'rt th' grandest woman aw ivver met, an if aw ivver do wed it'll be thee. Come, nah, tell me,--we havn't mich time befoor th' engine starts. Is ther onnybody tha likes better nor me. Spaik aght. If ther is aw'll bide it as weel as aw can, an aw'll nivver trubble thi agean."

"Noa, Dick, ther isn't. That's gospel trewth. Ther's nubdy livin at aw like better nor thee, an aw dooant know another aw like as weel, but tha knows when it comes to weddin, it mun be summat moor nor likin th' next time. It'll have to be lovin. An aw dooant love thee weel enuff, but aw may leearn to do, but tha mun gie me time."

"Yond's th' engine startin, aw mun be off;--an bless thi for what tha's sed. Aw'll mak misen worthy on thi, an tha shall love me at th' finish."

That afternoon Dick seemed to be walking on air. His face was flushed, and his heart beat until his voice was so unsteady that those who had to speak with him eyed him curiously. As he passed Susy's loom she gave him a look so full of love and sympathy that it required an effort to pass on to his other duties.

When the day's work was ended, he waited, as was his custom, for Jack, though he would much rather have gone home alone. He felt selfishly happy, and he wanted to nurse his secret where no eye could read his exultation. It was a something sacred,--too sacred to be shared even with Jack.

As they walked along, they saw Susy tripping away, some distance in advance.

"Yond's Susy, aw see," said Jack. "Aw could tell her onnywhear. Shoo doesn't walk like th' rest on em. Aw wonder if shoo'll ivver think abaat gettin wed agean."

"That's a matter at we've nowt to do wi. Aw suppooas shoo'll pleas hersen," said Dick, in a tone that fairly startled Jack.

"Summat must ha gooan wrang wi' him at his wark," thought Jack, and they walked along, only now and then giving utterance to some common place remark. Dick's conscience accused him. He felt that he possessed a secret that Jack could not share. There was a rift in the lute. Perfect confidence had ceased to exist between them. Why should it be so? he asked himself. Jack has committed no fault. Had the case been reversed he felt sure that Jack would have confided in him. Ah, but Jack could never love her as he loved her! Nobody could ever love her as he loved her! Nobody! Days and weeks went by, and it was a hard time for Dick. Sometimes he was in the seventh heaven of delight, and again he was plunged in the depths of misery and despair.

Susy seemed just as frivolous as ever. His declaration made no difference in her. She dispensed her smiles as impartially as ever, to all appearance unconscious that every favour bestowed on another was a stab to Dick, but however full of resentment he might feel, a sidelong glance which seemed so full of meaning to him banished his discontent and he accused himself of unreasonable jealousy.

The coldness between the two friends seemed to increase, yet they went to work together as usual, but conversation flagged and only indifferent subjects were touched upon. Dick had still unbounded faith in Susy, and although he could not but see that she avoided him, he accounted for it owing to the respect she still felt for the husband she had lost, and to the seriousness of making a second matrimonial venture.

One day, during the dinner hour, something seemed to impel him to see her and plead with her once more. He knew where she was to be found, and was proceeding to the place, when he heard her voice. He was screened by some huge bales of yarn, and he could hear what she said distinctly.

"Its varry kind o' thee, Jack, to tak pity on me,--aw like thee weel enuff, in fact ther's nubdy aw like better, but when aw wed agean it mun be moor nor likin, it will have to be love. Aw may leearn to love thi yet, but tha mun gie me time."

Dick could wait to hear no more. Retracing his steps noiselessly, he went out into the open air. Could it be true? Had his ears deceived him? Was it possible that the beautiful woman on whom he had lavished all the first love of his life could be capable of playing with him in such a fashion? Jack was his rival! He was a sycophant! a hypocrite! a villian!

How the afternoon passed he could not tell. He kept as far away from Susy as his duties would allow, and at night he walked home alone.

Next day he met Jack at the entrance to the works, but he gave him such a look of hatred that he stepped aside and he passed without a word.

Jack was quite unconscious of having done anything to merit such treatment, but by degrees, as he reviewed the incidents of the past few weeks, a light broke upon him;--he saw it all. They were rivals.

From that time all intercourse ceased between the two who had been deemed inseparable. This gave rise to many remarks from their acquaintances, not a few of whom guessed the cause.

Susy seemed quite unconcerned, and smiled as sweetly as ever. Dick furtively watched her, and the more he looked, the stronger grew his mad infatuation and the deeper became his determination to be revenged.

He never again intruded himself on Susy's dinner hour, but he knew that Jack took every opportunity of seeing her, and the work that he should have done during the time the machine was standing, he had to hurry over when it was in motion. It was a hazardous work;--a single slip might lead to a certain and horrible death. But he was experienced and cautious, and he felt no fear.

The fire of revenge, always smouldering, was almost daily fanned into flame by real or fancied causes.

Jack went calmly on his way. He regretted the break in their friendship, but he could not resign Susy. He hoped all things would come out right at last.

A day came, when, as the engine began to set in motion the innumerable shafts and wheels and pulleys, which in turn transmitted their mighty strength over the hundreds of looms,--Dick stood at the end of the row of machines that were under his charge. His eyes had a strange light in them and his face was unnaturally pale, and his hands wandered unmeaningly over the loom nearest him.

A scream reverberated through the shed, above all the clatter of shuttles and whirr of wheels, and was repeated again, and again. There was a rush towards one point. The mighty engine stopped with a groan, and all the wheels were motionless. All the workers had deserted their posts,--nay,--not all. Dick stood shivering, grasping an iron bar for support.

Susy, stood confronting him. The look in her wonderful eyes was one that he had never before seen. No word was spoken. She passed on to join the throng, and Dick followed like one in a dream.

"Poor Jack!" "poor lad!" was heard on every hand. The crowd divided, and four strong men bore the battered and bleeding form into the private office. Dick saw it,--he followed close behind it. Outside the very sunshine seemed red. He seemed to awake from a dream. There was his friend,--the friend he had loved,--nay,--more,--the friend he did love still. And he? what was he? A murderer:

No one had accused him;--no one even suspected him. Yes there was one. Her eyes still seemed to glare at him with their mute accusation.

What did he care? She had caused it all. He inwardly cursed her; and cursing her loved her more madly than ever. There was no revenge in his breast now.

Hastily throwing on his jacket, he followed the ambulance on which lay the unconcious body, covered with a sheet through which the blood had already penetrated. A doctor had been summoned and he said life was not extinct.

When the Infirmary was reached, Dick entered, no one attempted to intercept him. But when the body was placed in the accident ward, all but the doctors and nurses were ordered out. Dick paced the corridor from end to end incessantly. He could not leave until he knew the worst.

He had long to wait, but at last the doctors appeared.

"He still lives, but there is no hope."

And with that terrible sentence ringing in his ear, he had to leave him.

When he reached the works again, he found them closed, but a crowd of workers were gathered there. He joined them. They were discussing the terrible accident.

"Aw saw it," sed one, "aw wor standin cloise to him when th' ladder smashed an threw him onto th' shaft. His smock wor catched in a second, an he wor whirled raand an raand until th' engine wor stopt, and then he dropt to th' graand battered to bits."

"Its ten thaasand pities," sed another, "an aw connot help thinkin ther's been some foul play somewhear. Who can ha takken th' brokken ladder away? That ladder should be examined. Somdy may ha been foolin wi it."

"It does seem strange," said several, "but mooast likely it'll turn up."

They soon began to scatter, and Dick went homewards. The ladder! Who could have taken the ladder? The tell tale ladder, that bore the evidence of his guilt.

Arrived at home, he shut himself in his room and there he sat through what appeared to him an eternity of night. He felt no desire to sleep. Early in the morning found him again at the Infirmary. He questioned a nurse who was passing.

"He is quite conscious now, but he cannot hold out many hours. It is better he should die, than live a helpless cripple all the rest of his days."

"Aw mun see him," he sed, "Do let me see him."

"That cannot be without the doctor's permission," she said, but seeing the frantic grief of the man, she went and brought the doctor's consent.

Dick was soon at the bedside. He saw only the bandaged head. The face was scarcely disfigured, but there was a look upon it that could not be misunderstood.

A faint smile played over his pale features, as he recognised his visitor. Dick could not speak, but sank on his knees by the bedside and sobbed as only a strong man can sob.

"Jack," he sed at last, "can ta forgie me, lad? Aw did it. But aw wor mad! The devil had me in his clutches. Awm willin to suffer for it, but do forgie me. Forgie me for old times sake."

"Aw knew tha did it, but aw forgie thi freely, for tha didn't know it wod end like this. Aw wor to blame for net dooin mi wark when aw should ha done. Dunnot blame Susy. Shoo's worthy on thi. Shoo tell'd me 'at all her heart wor thine, an aw did all aw could to mak thi jaylus. An shoo wor praad, an when tha seemed to slight her it cut her up, but pride wodn't let her tell thi what aw've tell'd thi nah. It's hard to leeav th' world when young, but its mi own fault. Forgie me, Dick, an let me dee, an may thee an Susy be happy."

"That can nivver be, Jack. Thear's noa mooar happiness for me."

There was no response. The eyelids drooped,--the jaw fell. The nurse who had stood at a distance, drew near and spread a white napkin over his face.

"He's gone. 'Tis better so."

An inquest was held. "Accidental death" was the verdict.

The ladder could not be found. Neither Dick nor Susy ever entered those works again. They were both sadly altered. After Jack's funeral, months passed before they met again. What took place when they did meet can only be surmised. Some short time afterwards their was a quiet wedding, and they moved to another town. But Dick never recovered his old spirits, and it was not long before she was a second time a widow.

When Dick was in his coffin and the men stood by to close it for the last time, she placed in it a parcel. It contained two pieces of a broken ladder, showing where it had been sawn almost in two. This is all the story, Susy is living yet. The secret rests with her and me.

"If aw wor a Woman."

"If aw wor a woman awd----"

"If tha wor a woman tha'd be a disgrace to ivverybody belangin to thi, an thar't little else nah," sed Mally.

"Aw wor gooin to remark, 'at if aw wor a woman----"

"Eah! but tha arn't a woman, an if tha wor tha'd wish thisen a man agean, varry sharply. But if aw wor a man awd set a different example to what tha does. Aw wonder sometimes what thar't thinkin on, if tha ivver does think, which awm inclined to daat, unless its thinkin ha tha can contrive to be awkard an aggravatin."

"Well, but as aw wor gooin to say, If aw wor a----"

"Aw dooant want to hear owt tha has to say abaat it. A fine woman tha'd mak! But aw wish tha wor foorced to swap places wi me for a wick. Aw should like to see ha tha'd fancy gettin up befoor dayleet ov a Mondy mornin an start o' sich a weshin o' clooas as aw have to face ivvery wick; to say nowt abaat starchin an manglin an ironin. An then to start an brew a barrel o' ale for other fowk to sup; an then to bake for sich a family as we've getten,--nivver to mention makkin th' beds an cleanin th' hearthstun,--an' th' meals to get ready, an then to cleean th' haase throo top to bottom ivvery wick,--an darn th' stockins an put a claat on here an a patch on thear, an fifty moor things beside,--an nivver get a word o' thanks for it. Aw just wish tha wor a woman for an odd wick. Aw do, truly."

"As aw sed befoor, If aw wor a----"

"Awm capt tha hasn't moor sense nor to keep tawkin sich foolishness. Tha knows tha arn't a woman an tha nivver can be,--moor's pity. But if aw wor a man awd awther tawk sense or keep mi maath shut. Aw think sometimes 'at summat 'll happen to thi as a judgment for bein sich an ungrateful tyke as tha art. Tha gets up in a mornin an finds thi braikfast ready, an if ther's owt i'th haase at's nice an tasty tha gets it; an then tha walks aght to what tha calls thi wark, an comes to thi dinner, an off agean wol drinkin time, an after that tha awther gooas an caars i' some Jerryhoil, or else tha sits rockin thisen i'th front o'th fair, smokin thi bacca an enjoyin thisen wol bedtime. Ther's some fowk dooant know when they're weel done to. But aw know who it is 'at has to tew an slave all th' day, wi hardly a chonce to wipe th' sweeat off mi face."

"But, if tha'll lissen, aw wor gooin to remark, If aw wor----"

"Tha maks a deeal too monny remarks. Tha'll sit thear, remarkin an praichin bi th' haar together, an nivver give me a chonce to get in a word edgeways. But awm just sick an stall'd o' harkenin to thi. They wor a time, years sin nah,--but aw can remember it tho' tha's forgetten it,--when tha used to sit an lissen to owt aw had to say, an my word wor law then. An if mi little finger warked tha'd hardly be able to sleep ov a neet for trubblin abaat it. But it's different nah. Aw dooant believe it ud disturb thi if mi heead had to tummel off mi shoolders. Aw've studden a gooid deeal sin aw wor wed to thee, an aw expect aw'st ha to stand a lot moor; but one thing aw willn't put up wi, an that is, sittin an listenin to thee, an havin to keep mi tongue still. Soa tha knows."

"Well, but if aw wor----"

"Nah, let it stop just whear it is. Tha's getten a tawkin fit on aw know,--aw wonder thi jaws dooant wark. But aw willn't hear another word! Noa, net a word!"

"But if----"

"Ther's noa 'buts' abaat it! Hold thi noise, do! Tha'd tawk a hen an chickens to deeath. Tha wod. Aw wonder if aw shall ivver have a bit o' peace?--Net befoor awm laid low, aw reckon."

Sammywell's Soft Snap.

"What wor yond clatter, Mally? Has somdy been smashin summat?"

"Nowt 'at meeans mich. It wor a accident an couldn't be helpt."

"Well, what wor it? Can't ta spaik?"

"It's nowt at's owt to do wi thee, soa tha needn't let it bother thi heead; but if tha'rt soa crazy to know aw can tell thi.--It's awr Hepsabah's Jerrymiah at's brokken th' winder i'th weshus. Nah, arta satisfied?"

"Satisfied! Now! Satisfied bi gum! Does ta think aw've nowt else to do wi mi brass but to buy winders for Jerrymiah to smash? Ha is it awr Hepsabah can't keep her childer at hooam? When we'd childer we nivver sent em raand to ther gronfather's to smash winders! An if aw catch hold o' that young taistrel aw'll tak th' skin off him!"

"Hold thi din, gert softheead! Onnybody to hear thi tawk, 'ud think tha'd gooan cleean wrang i' thi heead! Bless mi life! tha dosn't think 'at th' child did it on purpose, does ta? He wor nobbut tryin his best to catch a blue-bottle-fly, an it went into th' winder whear be couldn't raik it, soa he sammed up a teacup an flang it at it,--nivver thinkin owt abaat th' winder, becoss he knew ha tha hated sich things buzzin abaat thi heead; but whativver that child does it seems to be wrang. Aw'd be shamed o' misen to start grumblin abaat a bit ov a tupny-hawpny winder!"

"Tupny-hawpny winder! Why, it'll cost a shillin to get that winder put in! An what abaat th' teahcup?"

"Oh, that's nowt. It wor nobbut an owd crackt en. Awd meant throwin it away monny a wick sin. Th' child wor sadly trubbled when he saw what he'd done, for he wor feeard tha'd be cross wi him, but aw tell'd him to whisht, for tha wornt to a winder or two, soa tha can give him a hawpny for spice, (tha knows he thinks a deeal moor on it when it comes throo thee,) an tha can call at glazers shop an tell em to send a chap up to put another pane in, an here's sixpence for thisen, sithee, for aw know thi bacca's ommost done."

"That's all reight. Ov cooarse th' child didn't meean to braik th' winder, nor the teacup nawther,--but he owt to be towt different; an aw dooant believe awr Hepsabah knows owt abaat trainin childer as they owt to be trained. But aw'st send noa chap up here to put that winder in. Aw've getten nowt else to do an aw meean to put that in misen. Aw can buy a square o' glass that size, for abaat thrippence, an better glass nor that wor too. But, Mally, nah this is a bargain;--If aw get th' glass an th' putty, and put it in, tha gies me th' shillin th' same as tha'd gie it onnybody else."

"Tha can have th' shillin! Aw'm nooan grumblin abaat th' shillin,--but aw connot see wot tha wants wi soa mich brass day after day. Ther's hardly ivver a day passes ovver thi heead 'at tha dosen't ax me for awther sixpince or a shillin, an awm sewer ther's all tha needs to ait an drink at hooam, an tha's as gooid clooas to don as onny man need wish,--an nobbut th' last Sundy, tha axt me for sixpince for th' collection, an tha nobbut put in a hawpny, for aw wor watchin thi.--A'a, well! but hasumivver, here's another shillin, soa if tha thinks tha can put it in, goa an get a square a glass an ha dun wi it."

"'Think aw can put it in?' Aw dooant think owt abaat it! Aw know aw can put it in! What does ta tak me for? Does ta think aw havn't th' strength an brains enuff to wrastle wi' a bit o' glass like that?"

"Tha's wrastled wi too monny glasses, Sammywell, sin aw knew thi, an they've getten thi daan moor noa once. It's gettin lat i'th' day, nah, to expect thi to mend mich, but if tha'd nobbut sign teetotal an join th' chapel, an buy Jerrymier a new Sundy suit, aw think aw mun see summat to admire in thi even yet."

"Ther's as mich to admire abaat me as ther is abaat some other fowk aw could mention, but aw'll bi off just nah, for when aw've a job to do aw want to get it done, an net stand hummin an haain abaat it like thee."

----------

"Nah, Mally lass. If awd had as mich sense when aw wor young as aw have nah, we'st ha been ridin in us carriage. Sithee--aw've nobbut gien thrippence for this glass an aw've getten putty for nowt an when that winder's mended it'll be better nor new an ninepence saved, soa tha sees we'st be soa mich i' pocket."

"Then that's ninepence tha'd nivver ha saved if it hadn't ha been for Jerrymier, soa tha connot say he's gooid for nowt onny moor."

"Ger aght o' mi gate, an lets do summat. Bring me a cheer to stand on an a knife an a hammer an a chissel an aw'll show thi ha to put a winder in, in abaat two or three ticktacks. This is what aw call a soft snap. Ninepence,--that's threepenoths for abaat three minnits wark. Nah, thee stand thear an steady th' cheer. Here gooas!---- Aw wonder what dang'd sooart o' putty that lumpheead used 'at put this winder in. It's as hard as iron--Jer-rer-ruselem!"

"What's to do, Sammywell? Has ta takken th' skin off?"

"Skin off! Oooo! Aw've ommost takken mi finger off! Get us some claat an a length o' threed to lap it up. If aw knew th' chap 'at put that winder in, he'd nivver put another in."

"Ther nah,--be moor careful,--it mud ha been war,--but tha sees that's what comes ov a chap startin to do summat 'at he doesn't understand."

"Understand! What the dickens is ther to understand abaat puttin a winder in? It's nooan puttin a winder in at's trubble! it's gettin this dang'd owd glass aght 'at tother chap put in. But awm nooan gooin to be likt bi a winder. Stick fast to that cheer. One,--two,--three----"

"Nah, tha's done it! Tha's gooan an brokken another pane! Ah knew tha'd mak a mullock on it when tha started!"

"Did ta! Well, aw'll mak a mullock o' thee i' two minnits if tha doesn't shut up! Tha sees awm dooin mi best to try to save a penny or two an tha does nowt but try to aggravate me. Braikin another pane doesn't amaant to mich;--they're nobbut thrippence a piece; aw think th' best plan 'll be to tak th' sash aght an put it on th' table, an then it'll be easier to get at. What says ta!"

"Do as tha likes, but aw think tha'd better let a chap come an put em in an ha done wi' it."

"If aw connot put a winder in we'll do baat. Nah, tha'll see it's just as simple as suckin spice, nah 'at aw've getten it whear aw can get to it. A'a, ther's noa wonder 'at them glazeners gettin rich! Chargin a shillin for a bit ov a job like this. Awm moor nor hawf inclined to goa into this trade, as old as aw am. Nah, tha sees, that's all ready for puttin th' glass in. Umph!--th' chap 'at cut this must ha been cross ee'd. Well, nivverheed,--aw guess aw can just squ-e-e-e-e-ze it in--. Dang it! it's allus alike! If awd ha cut that glass misen it ud ha just been reight. Nah it's crackt reight across! But it'll ha to do,--crackt or net crackt! Consarn it! aw dooant see what fowk want wi winders in a wesh haase! awm i' two minds to board th' hoil up an let em wesh i'th dark. Hasumivver, that's nooan sich a bad job if it'll nobbut stick. If aw hadn't brokken this tother pane aw'st had done nah. Nah, Mally, lass, aw'st want another shillin for this tother winder."

"Tha'll get noa moor aght o' me. Tha mun buy another square aght o' thi ninepence tha's saved."

"What ninepence?--Does ta expect a chap to goa trailin abaat th' taan for a hawf a day buyin glass an stuff, an nivver spendin nowt. These winders ud cost thi a shillin a piece if onny body else put em in, but aw willn't be hard on thi,--gie me another sixpence an aw'll finish th' job."

"Aw wish tha'd nivver started it. But this is th' last penny tha'll get aght o' me, soa tha knows! Aw nivver saw nubdy frame war i' mi life! Why, if awd gien awr Hepsabah's Jerrymier th' job he'd ha done it better nor that."

"Wod he?--Well, suppooas tha does give him th' job! Aw'll tell thi what it is.--Aw've just studden this sooart o' thing as long as awm gooin to.--Ther's awr Hepsabah an her Jerrymiar, an thee, 'at know ivverything an can do ivverything,--an aw know nowt an can do nowt, an awm treeated war nor nowt, an soa yo can just tak them winders an stick em up as they are, or mend em, or do what the daggers yo like wi em, but aw tell thi this, once for all,--'at as long as ivver thy name's Mally, tha'll nivver catch me slavin an plannin as aw have done for thee an thine. If tha'd nivver ha interfered, them winders ud ha been in, but tha'll nawther put em in thisen nor let me do it--soa awm gooin aght."

"Gooid shutness! Th' longer he lives an th' war he gets."

A Bashful Bradfordian.

One wod hardly expect to find a bashful young chap in a Bradforth printin office. But ther is one; but aght o' consideration for his tender feelins aw willn't tell his real name, but call him James Fearnly. If yo're varry anxious to find aght who it really is, this is th' way to do it. When yo've a bit o' spare time, if yo connot manage to get 'em all together at once, tak 'em one bi one, as yo can catch 'em, an read this stooary to em. Th' furst one 'at blushes, yo may safely tak to be him.

James fell i' love wi a young woman 'at lived up Manningham loin, an its allus been suppooased, bi them 'at know 'em, 'at shoo must ha fell i' love wi him at th' same time, or sooiner; but hasumivver, to th' surprise o' ivverybody 'at knew James, they gate wed. Ha they spent ther honeymooin aw cannot tell, an aw wodn't if aw could, but after a bit they gate nicely sattled in a little haase on Thornton Road.

Angelina was his wife's name, but he cut it short an called her Angel, which he varry likely thowt shoo wor. But if he wor bashful, shoo worn't. Shoo'd a bonny face, an a shape 'at made ivvery old chap 'at saw her wish he wor young ageean; an when owt tickled her shoo laft like a locomotive whistle in a fit; an as for bein bashful,--why--shoo didn't know what it meant.

Shoo'd a sister,--A'a! but shoo wor a grand en! To tell the trewth, James had fallen i' love wi her furst, but he wor too bashful to tell her soa, an he'd nivver ha had pluck to pop th' question to Angelina if it hadn't been 'at they wor lost at th' back o'th Taan Hall, an he had to borrow a lantern to prevent 'em runnin agean lamppooasts.

But when they'd getten sattled, Maude Blanche, (that wor th' sister's name,) coom to pay em a visit. Nah, Maude Blanche wor just as fond o' fun as James wor feeared on it, an shoo kept jabbin him between th' ribs, an sayin all sooarts o' queer things, an axin him questions 'at he couldn't answer an he blushed until Angelina had to tell her to stop, for fear all his blooid wod be in his heead.

Well, they went to bed. James an his wife i' one raam and Maude Blanche i'th next. James wor sooin i'th land o' nod, an Angelina felt disgusted when shoo heeard him snoorin an turned raand an followed his example.

Ha long they had slept they didn't know, but Angelina oppen'd her e'en, an what should shoo see, but th' drawers oppen, an all th' stuff scattered raand. Shoo gave a skrike, an jam'd her elbow between James's ribs wi' sich a foorce 'at he fell on th' floor like a log o' wood.

"Murder! police! thieves!" shoo skriked. "A'a, dear! what ivver shall we do! drive 'em aght!"

"Angelina, aw cannot do it! It's impossible!" an he stood shivverin an shakin and tryin to lap his legs up in his shirt tail.

"Aw've been robbed! That solid goold brooch aw gave fifteen pence for is missin, an all mi hair pins an a bobbin o' black threead, and gooidness knows what else! Maude Blanche! come here! Maude Blanche! does ta hear?"

"Gooid gracious! tha arn't callin thi sister in here an me i' this state!" sed James, an he dived under th' bed.

"Maude Blanche! _do_ come! Th' hasse is full o' robbers!"

"For God's sake, Angelina, dunnot let her come in here till awm donned. Aw've nowt on but mi shirt, and if shoo comes an sees me aw shall faint reight off."

"Shirt be hanged! what does it matter if shoo sees it! shoo'll have it to wesh next wick! Tha owt to be 'shamed o' thisen!"

"Aw am, an aw'st be moor soa if shoo comes in. Does ta know aw've noa stockins on, an mi britches is hung ovver th' bed fooit; an this shirt is a quarter ov a yard to short! Dunnot let her come in whativver tha does!"

Just then th' door oppened, an a smilin face peep'd in.

"What's to do?" axt Maude Blanche.

"We've been robbed! an that softheead is caarin under th' bed asteead o' runnin after th' robbers!"

"Turn her aght, Angelina! If tha doesn't aw shall sink throo th' floor. Gie me mi britches if tha'll do nowt else, an then aw'll see what aw can do. Maude Blanche! If tha hasn't forgetten all tha's ivver been towt at th' Sundy schooil, get aght o' this hoil as sharp as tha can! If tha doesn't tha'll see what tha'll be sorry for as long as tha lives, for aw cannot stand it!"

Angelina wor soa upset 'at shoo hardly knew what shoo wor dooin, but shoo pitched James's britches under th' bed, and Maude Blanche wor laffin wol shoo had to rest ageean th' bed fooit to steady hersen.

James tried to put on his britches, but it wor noa easy matter, but in a bit he did get his legs into 'em, altho' they wor th' wrang side before, an then he crept aght, moor deead nor alive, an a deeal war freetened wi' Maude Blanche nor he wor abaat th' robbers.

"Whear's th' robbers?" he sed, lukkin daan at th' slack ov his britches an fumblin after th' buttons.

"Ther's noa robbers," sed Maude Blanche, "it's nobbut a bit o' my fun. Aw heeard yo booath snooarin an aw thowt it ud be a gooid jooak to mak yo fancy somedy'd brokken into th' haase."

"A'a! did ta ivver!" sed Angelina, turnin to James; "did ta ivver see one like her i' all thi life?"

"Aw dooant think aw ivver did, an aw nivver want to see owt like her agean. Aw wonder if shoo ivver saw owt like me? Aw should think shoo'll nivver forget it as long as shoo lives."

"A'a, hold thi wisht! Little things mak noa impression on awr Maude Blanche."

They all went to bed agean, but James couldn't sleep, his narves had getten sich a shock. As sooin as it wor dayleet he gat up an dressed an went to his wark, but he couldn't think o' owt else, an ivvery time he did think, he blushed soa, wol th' foreman sed he wor sewer he'd getten scarlet fayver, and advised him to goa hooam an get a hot posset.

He's workin steady nah, but he's nivver getten ovver th' scare 'at heed had that neet, an he nivver gooas to bed withaat his britches, or else he has a newspaper pinned raand th' hem ov his shirt.

Angelina tells him 'at he maks a deeal o' fuss abaat nowt, but he considers it a varry serious matter.

Last time 'at Maude Blanche paid 'em a visit, shoo wor wearin a pair o' green spectacles, an when Angelina axt her what shoo wore 'em for, shoo sed 'at shoo did it becoss shoo wor feared if shoo lukt at James wi' th' naked eye 'at it mud send him into a fit.

If th' young chaps whear he worked had getten to know abaat it, they'd ha plagued his life aght, but they kept it to thersen. It wor Angelina 'at tell'd me abaat it, for shoo sed shoo knew aw could keep a saycret, an it didn't matter whether aw could or net, for if aw tell'd it, ther'd nubdy believe it.

Well, aw've tell'd it, an it's true an all.

Th' Owd, Owd Story.

It wor th' owd, owd story he towd her,
Th' story, 'at's owder nor time;
Nowt ivver chap whisper'd wor owder,
Nowt ivver soa grand an sublime.
For man nivver towd ither story,
Soa chock full ov magic as this,
For, it shraaded th' young chaps i' glory,
An' filled her 'at listened wi' bliss.

Th' story had wrought sich a wonder
Noa ither tale ivver has done--
Two hearts, that afooar wor assunder,
Wor knit i' a crack into one.
An' still he kept tellin' her th' story,
Which mooar an' mooar wonderful grew,
(Soa oft its been tell'd its grown hoary,)
But shoo could hav sworn it wor new.

Shoo thowt of th' angels above 'em,
Wor jealous o' her, an' him, then--
For angels has noa chaps to love 'em,
Love's nobbut for wimmin an' men.
But th' love i' her heart ovvercame her,
An' shoo pitied th' whole angel thrang,
Aw know what love is, an' dooant blame her,
An' aw dooant think her pity wor wrang.

Th' story wor towd, an' for ever
It wor noa gurt shakes what might befall;
Nowt but deeath, these two hearts could sever,
An' that nobbut partly, net awl:
For love like one's soul is immortal,
If its love, it wont vanish away--
Its birth wor inside o' th' breet portal
Ov Eden, it knows noa decay.

Sin' then it has lived on, while th' ages
Has rowled on wi' uniform flow,
As young, an as fresh, as when sages
Towd ther sweethearts it cent'ries ago--
An' chaps 'll be tellin th' story,
Th' breet, owd, owd story ov love,
When time, an' love, fade inter th' glory
'At streams thro' th' manshuns above.

Jim Nation's Fish-shop.

Sammywell Grimes an his wife, Mally, wor set anent th' foir,--Sammywell seemingly varry mich interested ith' newspaper, an Mally, showin signs ov impatience, wor darnin stockins. All wor silent except for th' tickin oth' clock, wi nah an then a long-drawn-aght sigh throo Mally an an occasional grunt throo Grimes. At last Mally couldn't stand it onny longer, an shoo pitched th' stockins on th' table an sed,--

"Dost know, its just cloise on an haar an a hawf sin tha set daan wi that paper, an tha's nivver oppened thi lips to me durin that time? Aw remember when things wor different. Ther wor a time when tha tuk a delight i' tellin me all th' news, but latterly tha tells me nowt, an if it worn't for Hepsabah an some oth' naybors aw shouldn't know whether th' world wor gooin on as usual, or it had come to an end."

"Why, lass,--th' fact oth' matter is ther's nowt to tell. Aw nivver saw th' like. Aw dooant know what papers are gooin into, for ther isn't a bit o' news in em. Aw've just glanced ovver this an aw can find nowt worth readin."

"It doesen't tak thee an haar an a hawf to find that aght. Is ther owt in abaat th' war?"

"Oh, war! Aw believe it does say summat abaat th' war. It's still gooin on, an one chap has sprained his ankle an another has had a narrow escape an De Wet is expected to be captured as sooin as they get hold on him, an a lot moor sich tales, but they arn't worth thinkin abaat coss they'll all be contradicted ith' mornin."

"An does it say nowt abaat that butcher at's run away an left his wife? Awr Hepsabah wor sayin shoo believed they'd catched him."

"Hi! They've catched him, an he wor browt up at th' Taan Hall this mornin an he pleaded 'guilty,' soa th' magistrate sed as he'd allus borne a gooid character he'd give him his choice, an he could awther goa back hooam an live wi his wife or goa to quod for three months wi hard labour."

"They've let him off easier nor he desarved, but aw should think his wife's gien him a bit ov her mind."

"Nay, net shoo! Shoo's nivver had th' chonce, for he tuk three months. Shoo's a tartar aw believe."

"Shoo must be if that's th' case. A'a, Sammywell,--a chap at's blessed wi a gooid wife owt to goa daan on his knees i' gratitude for they're varry scarce."

"Aw believe they are;--a chap wod have to goa a far way to find one at this day."

"He'd have to travel a deeal farther to find a gooid husband,--aw can tell thi that! An if tha arn't satisfied wi thi wife tha's getten tha'rt at liberty to goa an find a better. It's noa use a woman tryin to be a gooid wife at this day, for they get noa better thowt on. If they did, tha'd think moor o' me nor tha does!"