’In a bit, Mr. Penrose, I geet as I couldn’t for shame to look into Betty’s een at all; an’ then aw took to blushin’ every time hoo come i’ th’ warehouse wi’ her pieces, an’ when hoo spoke, aw trembled all o’er like a barrow full o’ size.  One day hoo’d a float in her piece, and aw couldn’t find it i’ mi heart to bate her.  And when th’ manager fun it aat, he said if I’d gone soft o’er Betty, it were no reason why aw should go soft o’er mi wark, and he towd me to do mi courtin’ i’ th’ fields and not i’ th’ factory.  But it were yeasier said nor done, aw can tell yo’, for Betty were a shy un, and bided a deal o’ gettin’ at.

‘There used to be a dur (door) leadin’ aat o’ th’ owd warehaase into th’ weyvin’ shed, an’ one day aw get a gimlik an’ bored a hoile so as aw could peep thro’ an’ see Betty at her wark.  It wernd so often as aw’d a chance, bud whenever th’ manager’s back were turned, an’ aw were alone, I were noan slow to tak’ my chance.  It were wheer I could just see Betty at her looms.  Bless thee, lass, aw think aw can see thee naa, bendin’ o’er thi looms wi’ a neck as praad as a swan’s, thi fingers almost as nimble as th’ shuttle, an’ that voice o’ thine treblin’ like a brid!’

‘Do ged on wi’ yor tale, Malachi; what does Mr. Penrose want to know abaat lasses o’ forty year sin’?  He’s geddin’ one o’ his own—­and that’s enough for him, aw’m sure.’

‘Aw nobbud want him to know that there were bonnie lasses i’ aar time as well as i’ his—­that were all, Betty.’

‘Well, ged on wi’ yo’, an’ durnd be so long abaat it, Malachi.’

‘One day, Mr. Penrose, as aw were peepin’ through th’ hoile i’ th’ warehaase dur at Betty, aw could see that there were summat wrong wi’ one o’ th’ warps, for hoo were reachin’ and sweatin’ o’er th’ loom, an’ th’ tackler were stannin’ at her side, an’ a deal too near and o’ for my likin’, aw con tell yo’.

‘Just as hoo were stretchin’ her arm, and bendin’ her shoulders to get owd o’ th’ ends, the tackler up wi’ his an’ clips her raand th’ waist.

‘Well, hoo were up like a flesh o’ greased leetnin’, and fetched him a smack o’er th’ face as made him turn the colour o’ taller candles.  Yo’ remember that, Betty, durnd yo’?

‘Yi! aw remember that, Malachi,’ said the old woman, proudly recalling the days of her youthful prowess; ’there were no man ’at ever insulted me twice.’

‘When aw see th’ tackler put his arm raand Betty, I were through th’ dur and down th’ alley wi’ a hop, skip and jump, and hed him on th’ floor before yo’ could caant twice two.  We rowl’d o’er together, for he were a bigger mon nor me, an’ I geet my yed jowled agen th’ frame o’ th’ loom.  But I were no white-plucked un, an’ aw made for him as if aw meant it.  He were one too mony, however, for he up wi’ his screw-key and laid mi yed open, an’ I’ve carried this mark ever sin’.’  And the old man pointed to a scar, long since healed, in his forehead.  ’Then they poo’d us apart, an’ said