“A’a, dear, A’a dear!  Why tha must ha brokken a blooid vessel.”

“Aw think awve brokken two or three,” sed Sucksmith “but what mun aw do?”

“Sewse thi heead wi cold watter; ther’s nowt stops bleedin like cold watter.  Why, if tha gooas on tha’ll bleed to th’ deeath.”

“Aw begin to feel faint already,” sed Sucksmith, as he started o’ throwin moor watter on his heead; but th’ moor he put on an’ th’ moor blooid seemed to come, an’ he sed, “Oh, dear! aw believe awm done for this time, Musty; doesn’t ta think tha’d better send for a doctor?”

When he lifted up his heead, Musty wor foorced to turn away for a minit to get a straight face, for Sucksmith’s wor dyed th’ color ov a raw beef steak, an’ his heead luk’d like one o’ them red door mats ’at tha’s seen.  But Musty advised him to goa on wi’ th’ watter, an’ he did, an’ in a while it begun to have less colour in it, an’ Sucksmith’s mind began to feel a bit easier.

“Aw think its ommost gien ovver nah,” he sed, but luk at mi hands! why they’re like a piece o’ scarlet cloath.”

“Eea, an thi face is th’ same; tha luks to me as if tha’d getten th’ scarlet-fayvor, an’ awm sure ther’s summat nooan reight wi’ thi; but wipe thisen an’ come into tother hoil, ther’s some o’ thi mates thear, an’ we’ll see what they say.”

Sucksmith did as he wor tell’d, an’ went into tother raam with Musty, but ther wor sich a crack o’ laffin as sooin as he showed his heead, wol they mud ha fell’d him wi’ a bean.  “Nah lads,” sed Musty, “yo shouldn’t laff at a chap’s misfortunes, an’ awm sure ther’s Summat matter wi awr friend Sucksmith, aw tell him it must be th’ scarlet fayvor.’

“Well aw niver saw sich a heead i’ mi life,” sed another, “but its nooan th’ scarlet fayvor; my belief is its th’ cattle plague, an if it is, an’ th’ police gets to know they’ll have him shot, bi th’ heart will they, for they’ve orders to destroy ivery livin thing ’at shows ony signs o’ havin it.  But whear has ta been to get it thinks ta?”

“Nay, awve been nowhere ’at aw know on,” sed Sucksmith, “aw felt all reight a bit sin, an’ aw ligg’d daan o’ some sheets o’ wool an’ fell asleep, an’ aw niver knew aw ail’d owt wol aw coom in here to wesh me.”

“Why then it will be th’ cattle plague, its nowt else, ther’s a deal o’ sheep had it lately; an’ varry likely that’s some o’ ther wool ’at tha’s been sleepin on.  But ha does ta feel?”

“Oh, aw feel varry mich alike all ovver,—­awm feeared its up we me ommost, an’ this has come for a warnin, for aw havn’t behaved misen reight latly.  But if awm spared to get ovver this awl alter.”

“Why tha luks as if tha’d awther getten a warnin or a warmin, bith color o’ thi face,” sed one, “but aw think tha’d do wi’ a glass o’ summat to cooil thi daan a bit,—­a red Indian’s a fooil to thi.”

“It must be summat serious,” sed another, “are ta th’ same color all ovver?”