dropt on, an’ ov coarse his mates wor suited.  “Niver heed,” sed Billy “aw dooant like to be hard o’ anybody, soa if tha doesn’t want ’em aw’l buy’ em back at th’ same price.”  “By gow, Billy! tha’rt a trump,” sed th’ chap, “tak th’ yearins an’ gie me hold o’th’ brass.”  Billy took th’ yearings, an’ handed him a penny.  “Nay! gieme th’ hauf-craan an’ all,” sed th’ chap.  “Nooan soa, sed Billy, aw’ve gien thee th’ same price for’ em as tha gave me, an’ aw know aw’m net as sharp as some, but as aw’ve ninepenorth o’ yearin left, an a hauf-a-craan moor i’ mi pocket, aw fancy aw’ve made a profit.  An’ th’ next time tha wants to mak a fooil ov a chap, start o’ somdy ’at’s less wit nor this en, an’ then tha weant be dropt on.”

That wornt a bad move ov a chap they call Silly Billy.

Put up wi’ it.

Aw think aw could tell what day it wor th o’ aw didn’t know if aw could see a lot o’ factry fowk gooin to ther wark.  Mondy’s easy to tell, becoss th’ lasses have all clean approns on, an’ ther hair hasn’t lost its Sundy twists, an’ twines ther faces luk ruddier an’ ther een breeter.  Tuesdy, ther’s a change; they’re not quite as prim lukkin! ther topping luk fruzzier, an’ ther’s net as monny shignons as ther wor th’ day before.  Wednesday,—­they just luk like hard-workin fowk ’at live to wark an’ wark to live.  Ther’s varry few faces have a smile on ’em, an’ th’ varry way they set daan ther clogs seems to say, “Wark-a-day, Live-a-day, Laik-a-day, Get-noa-pay; Rain-or-noa, Bun-to-goa.”  Thursdy.—­They luk cross, an’ ther heeads are abaat hauf-a-yard i’ advance o’ ther tooas.  Ther clogs seem to ha made up ther mind net to goa unless they’re made.  Friday.—­That’s pay day.  Noa matter ha full ther belly may be, ther’s a hungry luk abaat ther een; an’ther’s a lot on ’em huggin baskets; an’ yo can see it written i’ ther faces ’at if they dar leeave as sooin as they’ve getten ther bit o’ brass they wod.  Then comes Setterday —­Short day—­an’ yo can tell th’ difference as sooin as yo clap een on’ em.  They’re all i’ gooid spirits.  They luk at th’ church clock as they pass, an’ think it’ll sooin be nooin, an’ then!—­An’ then what?  Why, then they’ll have a day an’ a hauf for thersen—­abaat one fifth o’ ther life—­one fifth o’ ther health an’ strength for thersen.  That doesn’t luk mich, but ther fain on it.  They owt to be thankful becoss they live in a free country.  They can suit thersen’s whether they do that, or go to th’ workhaase.  Justice, they say, is blind, an’ if Freedom isn’t, shoo must be put to th’ blush sometimes.

   Who’d be a slave, when Freedom smiling stands,
   To strike the gyves from of his fettered hands? 
   Who’d be a slave, and cringe, and bow the knee,
   And kiss the hand that steals his liberty? 
   Behold the bird that flits from bough to bough;
   What though at times the wintry blasts may blow,—­
   Happier it feels, half frozen in its nest,
   Than caged, though fed and fondled