Aw remember one neet as he wor gooin hooam (net becoss he thowt it wor time, but becoss his brass wor done), he happened to hear a bobby comin’ as he turned th’ street corner.  It wor varry dark, soa he just stept back an waited for him comin’, an as sooin as his heead popt past th’ corner, he gave him what he called a cauf-knock an sent him sprawlin’ his whoal length ith middle oth rooad.  He wor hardly daan befoor Sam ran to help him up.  “A’a! whativver’s to do mister poleeceman?” he sed.  “Are yo hurt?  Do tell me,” an he helpt him up an began to wipe th’ muck off his clooas wi’ his pocket hankerchy.  Th’ poleeceman turned his bull’s-eye onto his face, but nubdy could suspect Sam.  “Did ta see it done?” he axd.  “Eea, aw saw it as fair as could be.  It’s a burnin’ shame ’at sich like fowk cannot be stransported! it is act’ly.  Awm sewer aw could ommost roar mi een up when aw see onnybody ill used like that.”  “Does ta think tha’d know him if tha’d to see him agean?” axd th’ bobby.  “Awm sewer aw’ could, an’ th’ furst time he passes me awl bring him up to th’ poleece office if aw have to wheel him in a barro.”  “Well, here’s a shillin’ for helpin’ me up, an be sewer an keep thi een oppen.”  “Nay, nay, keep yor brass,” sed Sam, “awm naoan one a’ that sooart ’at wants payin’ for dooin a kindness ‘at costs me nowt, but awl tak it, tho’ awst nivver have th’ heart to spend it, but awm mich obleeged to yo, an aw wish yo gooid neet, an hooap yo’ll meet wi noa moor misfortunes.”  “Aw hooap net, an’ if they wor all like thee th’ poleece ud have a easy time on it.”  “Why, maister, if they wor all like me ther wodn’t be onny poleece, for aw havn’t a heart i’ mi belly big enuff for sich a job.”  Sam left him, an th’ furst public haase he coome to he went in an had a rare spree wi’ th’ shillin’, but when he coom aght, if onnybody’d met him they’d ha been just as likely to think he’d been to a teetotal meetin’ an’ signed th’ pledge.

But if yo’d wanted to see him when he put on his varry simple smile, yo should ha seen him when a lady browt him a pet dog ’at wor poorly.  He wor noated far an wide as a dog doctor, an ladies used to come throo all pairts wi ther pet’s to ax Sam’s advice.  Hahivver ugly a little brute chonced to be brawt, Sam had his nomony ready.  “A’a, that is a little beauty, mum, aw havn’t seen one like that, mum, aw can’t say when, mum.  Aw dooant think yo’d like to pairt wi’ it mum?”

“Oh, no!  I would not part with it for its weight in gold I It’s such a faithful little dear!”

“Awm sewer on it, mum, yo can see it in it.  It’s the varry picture o’ faithfulishness.  If yo leeav it wi’ me it’ll be weel takken care on, mum.  An what name might yo call it, mum?”

“We call it Lion.”

“That’s just th’ name for a little pet like this, it is fer sewer.”

“What do you think is the matter with the little darling?”