“Oh, its all serene—­th’ centre o’ gravitum’s all reight up to nah,” says Tom.

Up it went—­little an’ little—­an’ ivery time it stirr’d it gat a bit moor off th’ edge, an’ just as he’d getten it to th’ winder bottom, ovver it went an’ daan it fell wi’ a crash an’ a buzz, like a volley o’ donce music shot aght ov a cannon, an’ aght coom all th’ neighbors to see what wor up.

An’ it did luk a seet, reight enuff.  Th’ top had flown off, an’ one leg stuck aght one way an tother stuck aght another.  It wodn’t ha’ luk’d hauf as ill if it had been an owd deal box o’ some sooart; but a grand mogny peanner—­it luk’d just awful.  Its like a druffen chap ’ats dressed i’ black cloath—­he allus luks war nor one ‘ats dress’d i’ fushten.

“Well, what’s to be done nah?” says th’ landlord, when he’d getten daan ta Tom agean, “tha reckons to knaw a bit o’ summat abaght music, doesn’t ta?  What mun wi’ do wi’ this lot?”

“Well,” says Tom, “aw’ve put a hanel or two on to a box organ an’ polished a flute or two i’ mi time, soa aw owt to knaw summat, but aw’ve niver had owt to do wi’ peanners; but aw dar say if we had it inside, aw could do a bit o’ summat wi’ it.”

“We can easy manage that,” said th’ landlord, “for we can tak it up i’ numbers!”

In a short time they had it carried up an’ put together, but what bothered Tom wor, all th’ strings wor in a lump, for th’ wood ’at they wor screw’d to had brokken lawse an’ tumelled into th’ bottom.

“Nah, if we could nobbut get this wood wi’ all thease pegs in, an’ all thease wires fesend to it, lifted up into th’ reight spot, aw think ther’d be a chonce o’ gettin some mewsic aght on it—­soa seize hold an’ lift,” said Tom.  An’ they did lift I for they lifted th’ peanner clean off th’ floor.

“A’a dear! this’ll never do,” says Tom, “aw niver saw ony body frame wor i’ mi life; we mun ha’ somdy to sit on it to hold it daan.  Connot th’ mistress spare time, thinks ta?  Shoo’s a tidy weight.

“Sally, come here!” shaated aght th’ landlord, an’ shoo wor up in a minit.  “Nah, we want thee to sit daan o’ this article wol we lift.”

“What, sit me daan o’th’ kays, does ta mean?  Tha doesn’t think at aw con play, does ta lad?”

“Sit thee daan! says th’ landlord, varry cross; tha’s noa need to be feeard o’ been blown up—­its nooan a wind instrument.”

Shoo set daan, tho’ shoo didn’t seem mich to like it, an after a gooid deal o’ tuggin an’ poolin, th’ chaps managed to get it up within abaght an inch o’ whear it had been befoor.

“Thear!” said Tom, “that begins to luk moor like summat.”  “Eea, it does,” says th’ landlord, “aw shouldn’t be daan abaght makin a peanner after this; but if aw did mak one, aw’d mak one ‘at wodn’t braik wi’ fallin an odd stoory.  Aw dooant think him aw borrowed it on ’ll be able to find owt aght.”

“Well, aw dooant knaw,” says Tom, “aw’m th’ fastest what to do wi’ thease thingams ’at waggles abaght soa; tha sees they owt to hit thease wires, but they’re all too long someha.”