“Sup lass, for aw can sympathise wi thee, an if it ’ad been a paand tha’d wanted to borra tha should ha had it.  But tha hasn’t all th’ trouble to thisen, for aw’ve getten a share as weel as thee.  Awl tak a drop o’ that if tha’ll hand th’ teah pot this way.  But mine’s a deeal war nor thine, for awr Alick (a better lad nivver wor born—­aw used to say when he wor a babby ’at he’d nivver live, for when he wor varry near doubled up wi th’ ballywark he’d ligg in his creddle an hardly mak a muff) he’s gooin to mak a fooil ov hissen an all, for he’s pickt up some idle trolly, an he’s savin’ up his brass to ware it o’ her, an he’s aght two or three neets ith wick, an if aw ax him owt he says, “Yo’ll find it aght in a bit,” an if he doesn’t find it aght it’ll cap me, for his fayther tell’d me ‘at he saw him walkin’ abaat last Horton Tide wi a woman hook’d ov his arm, an what maks it war is aw’ve heeard at shoo’s nooan to gooid, an he’s as simple as a cauf, an shoo can just twist him raand her little finger.  When aw wor puttin’ his Sunday clooas away last wick aw fan a thimmel an a hairpin, an a mintdrop ’at had been hauf suckt (an aw know awr Alick niver aits spice) in his britches pocket, an when he coom hooam he wor ommost ranty wol he knew what had come on ’em, an when aw gave ’em him he lapt ’em up i’ paper an lukt as suited as if he’d fun a fortun.”

“Th’ teah-pot’s empty if it means owt, but aw wor just gooin to say ’at tha knows we can nivver put old heeads onto young shoolders, an awm sooary to hear ’at yor Alick’s noa moor wit, but still it isn’t as bad a case as mine, for tha sees if a chap gets wed he’s th’ maister, but a lass has to do as shoo can.”

“Nay, net it!  It’s th’ wimmen ‘at’s th’ maisters oth men, aw know that mysen.  Whear wod that felly o’ mine ha been if it hadn’t been for me?  Why he’d ha been ith warkus long sin, if he hadn’t been in his grave.  Try this, sithee, it’s sweeter nor th’ last.”

“Eea, it’s sweeter, but it ’ud do wi a drop moor gin in it if it’s all th’ same to thee.”

“It is rayther waik, but as aw wor sayin’, tha sees awr Alick’s allus lived at hooam, an he’s nivver known what it’s been to want for owt, even to his booits bein’ blackened for Sunday, an if he gets hold o’ that nasty powse (for shoo’s nowt else who shoo is), whativver mun come on him.”

“Eea, an whativer mun come o’ awr Harriet Ann?  Did ta put owt into th’ teah-pot, Nanny?”

“Aw filled it nobbut a minnit sin, an if it’s empty tha must ha supt it.”

“Nay, awve nobbut tasted abaat twice.  Happen it runs.”

“Awm sure it runs, but it’s aght oth spaat.  Put it aght oth seet.  Ther’s awr Alick comin’ up th’ gate, an yor Harriet Ann follerin’ him.  It’s reight fair wearisome.  If a body gets set daan for a bit ov a talk ther’s sure somebdy to come.  What’s browt yo two here at this time aw should like to know?” “Whear’s ta left thi fayther, Alick?”