“Noa, but as aw wor telling thi, aw’d been i’th’ mistal, an’ aw went into th’ kitchen for a bit o’ summat to ait.  Aw saw some fat o’th’ ooven top in a pot, soa aw gate some breead an’ ait it up.  Aw thowt it wor fearful gooid an’ savored summat aw’d niver had afoor; but just when aw’d finished it, one o’th’ young mistresses come daan an’ axed me what aw’d done wi’ what wor i’th’ pot?  Soa aw tell’d her aw’d etten it.  Etten it!!’ shoo skriked.  ‘Etten it!!  Why,’ shoo says, ’yo’ll be pooisened, Tommy, its pumatum!’ Well, aw says, ’pumatum or net, aw’ve etten it,’—­an’ away shoo ran an’ browt th’ maister an’ th’ mistress, an’ all t’other fowk i’th’ haase, an’ rarely they laffed tha minds; but maister made me a glass o’ rum to settle it, an’ aw felt noa mooar on it.”

“Well,” said Dick, “tha mayn’t feel it nah, but aw shouldn’t be capped if thi inside wor to grow full o’ ringlets.”

“Niver heed that, they’ll keep mi belly warm,” said Tommy, “but th’ bacca’s done, soa aw mun be making mi way shorter.  Gooid day, Dick.”

“Gooid day, Tommy.  Aw hope tha’ll have a fine day for thi walk.”

“Eea, eea, aw hope aw shall, but if it rains aw sholl’n’t melt.”

“Nooah, but its rayther coolish.”

“It’ll be warmer as it gets ooater, Dick.  Gooid day.”

And thus the two friends parted; each smiling at the quaint humor of the other;—­the one to climb seven miles of rough and heavy road to get his toe nails cut, and the other to pay an early visit to his son, and rest his limbs, which by six days of willing toil had earned a Sabbath’s rest.  He walked slowly, musing as he went, and every now and again making audible the current of his thoughts.

“Its monny a long year sin aw saw owd Tommy before, an’ it may be monny a long year before aw see his face agean; aw think owd Time must use him wi’ a gentler hand nor he uses me.  Aw remember th’ first time aw saw him, he wor coming past th’ churn milk Joan, wi’ a lump o’ parkin in his hand as big as awr ooven top; an’ that wor th’ day ‘at Jenny an’ me wor wed.  It seems like a dream to me nah.  Poor Jenny!—­if there’s a better place, tha’rt nooan soa far off thear!” And then he paused to wipe the heavy drops from off his cheeks.  “Aw thowt aw’d getten ower this sooart o’ thing, nah he sed, but aw believe aw niver shall.  Its just five year come Easter sin aw laid her low, an awve niver been able to aford a grave stooan for her yet, but aw can find that bit o’ rising graand withaat a mark, an prize it nooan the less.  But its noa gooid freating abaght things we cannot help.  Aw’ll have another reek or two an’ goa an’ see awr Joa.”  So filling his little black clay pipe with the fragrant weed (which for convenience he carried loose in his waistcoat pocket), he puffed his cloud of incense in the air and hastened on to gain his journey’s end.  A walk of a few minutes brought him to the door of a low whitewashed farm-house, around which