mooin.  It grows nowt nobbut stooans covered wi’ sooit, an’ smook throo th’ gas haase hangs ovver it all day long like a claad.  But up at th’ top thers some stooan delves, an’ a field or two whear they say reeal grass grows, an’ i’ support o’ this noashun somdy’s had th’ cheek to turn hawf a dozen cows aght, an’ let ’em pretend to graze,—­of cooarse its all mak believe, for they mun gie th’ poor brewts summat to ait beside, or else th’ inspector for crewelty to annimals wod have been daan on em befoor nah.

It’s a long gate up Beacon Hill—­yo goa up New Bank an’ ovver Godly Brig, in between th’ Bloody Field an’ Saint Joseph’s Schooil, an’ then reight up to th’ top, an’ if it wornt for th’ fact at thears a gooid few public haases o’th road aw dooant think ’at Sarah wod ivver have getten to th’ top at all; for shoo wor tuk bad wi’ th’ spasms jist at th’ side o’ th’ Pine Apple, an shoo had attacks ivvery few minnits wol we gate to th’ Albion, which is th’ last licensed haase; but bi gooid luck they didn’t coom on after that, for as thers noawhear to get her onny thing comfortin’ if shoo’d been tuk agean, aw dooant know whativver aw should ha done.

Well, we gate to th’ top at last, an’ sat daan to luk at th’ view.  It’s reight grand, an them at hasn’t seen it should goa bi all means at once.  Yo can see all ovver th’ taan—­monny a thaasand chimleys all smokin’ at once, an’ scoars o’ mill’s, an’ ivvery nah an’ then when th’ wind blows th’ reek away, yo can see th’ Bastile as plain as owt.

As we wor sittin’ daan to rest we heeard sumdy tawkin’ jist ovver th’ wall, soa we kept still a bit, an’ varry sooin we heeard as mich cursin’ an’ swearin’ as owt to have filled a faandry for a wick.

“Whativver is ther to do,” sed Sarah, “lets have a luck?”

We gate up, an’ went an’ luk’d throo a hoil i’ th’ wall, an’ thear daan in a bit ov a holler, soa ’at they couldn’t be seen, wor abaat twenty gurt strappin’ young fellers tossin’ coppers.

We hadn’t been lukkin’ moor nor a minnit or two, when a man wi’ a red beeard coom runnin’ daan th’ hill an’ stopt abaat ten yards throo whear th’ chaps wor laikin’ at pitch an’ toss, an’ he started o’ writin’ summat daan in a book.

“Bobbies!” a chap shaated aght, an i’ hawf a minnit ther wor nubdy to be seen, nobbut th’ new comer, for ivvery one on ’em had hooked it as fast as if th’ owd chap wor after ’em.

Then th’ feller sammed up th’ coppers, an’ coom’d reight to whear we wor, an’ climbed ovver th’ wall.  He wor laffin like owt.  When he’d getten on to th’ side whear we wor, he luk’d a bit surprised to see us, but he sed nowt—­soa Sarah axd him if be wor a poleeceman, an’ if he wor baan to report ’em at th’ Taans Hall?

“Net aw,” he sed, “awm noa bobby awm not, aw nobbut did it to flay ’em.”

“But yo gate ther brass,” aw sed.

“For sewer aw did,” says he, “aw mak a day’s wage at this trade ivvery Sundy, it’s th’ best payin’ professhun aght—­aw gate seventeen pence this mornin’ at Ringby, an ther’s eighteen pence here, that’s three bob nobbut a penny.  Last Sundy aw addled three an’ ninepence, at Siddal an’ Whitegate.  Ther soa flayed if onnybody starts o’ writin’, ’at they hook it like a express train, for they think yor takkin ther names daan.”