we mutn’t feight among th’ machinery, so we geet up an’ agreed to feight it aat i’ th’ Far Holme meadow that neet, an’ we did.  We fought for over hawve an haar, summat like fifteen raands, punsin’ and o’ (kicking with clogs).  As aw told yo’, he were th’ bigger mon; bud then aw hed a bit o’ science o’ mi side, an’ I were feytin’ for th’ lass aw luved, an’ when he come up for th’ fifteenth time, I let drive atween his een, and he never seed dayleet for a fortnit.’

‘An’ thaa were some stiff when it were all o’er, Malachi,’ said Betty.

’Yo’re reet, lass!  Aw limped for more nor a week, but aw geet thee, an’ aw meant it, if aw’d had to feight fifteen raands more—­’

’So, like the knights of olden time, Malachi, you fought for your fair lady and won her.’

‘Nay, Mr. Penrose, you morn’d think he nobbud won me wi’ a feight; he’d summat else to do for me beside that.  Aw noan put mysel up for a boxin’ match, aw con tell yo’.’

‘Nowe, Mr. Penrose, th’ feight were nobbud th’ start like.  It were sometime afore th’ job were settled.  Yo’ see, I were a shy sort o’ a chap and back’ard like at comin’ for’ard.  One day, haaever, Molly o’ th’ Long Shay come up to me when th’ factory were losin’, and hoo said, “Malachi, arto baan to let Amos Entwistle wed that lass o’ Cronshaw’s? for if thaa art thaa’rt a foo’ (fool).  Thaa’rt fond o’ her, and hoo’s fond o’ thee.  If hoo’s too praad to ax thee to be her husband hoo’s noan too praad to say ‘Yea’ if tha’ll nobbud ax her to be thi wife.”

‘Molly o’ Long Shay were noan sich a beauty, bud aw felt as aw could aw liked to ha’ kuss’d her that day, an’ no mistak’.

‘"Ey, Molly,” aw said, “if aw thought thaa spok’ truth, aw’d see Betty to-neet.”

‘"See her, mon,” hoo said, “an’ get th’ job sattled.”

‘Well, yo’ mun know, Mr. Penrose, that Betty’s faither were fond o’ rootin’ i’ plants, an’ as aw’d a turn that way mysel I thought aw’d just walk up as far as his haase, and buy a twothree, and try and hev a word wi’ Betty i’ th’ bargain.  So aw weshed mysel, and donned mi Sunday best, and went up.

‘When aw geet theer, Betty were i’ th’ garden by hersel, as her faither were gone to a deacons’ meetin’ at Rehoboth.

‘"What arto doin’ up here, Malachi?” hoo sez.

’"I’ve nobbud come up to see thi faither abaat some flaars,” aw stuttered.

’"He’ll noan be up for an hour or two yet,” hoo said.  “He’s gone to Rehoboth.  Is it a flaar as aw con get for thee?”

‘"Yi!” aw sez, “yo’ con get me th’ flaar aw want.”

‘"Which is it?” said hoo.  “Is it one o’ those lilies mi faither geet fro’ th’ hall?”

‘"Nowe,” aw said; “it didn’t come fro’ th’ hall; it awlus grow’d here.”

’"Well, if thaa’ll tell me which it is, thaa shall hev it; where abaats is it?”

‘Mr. Penrose, did yo’ ever try an’ shap’ your mouth to tell a lass as yo’ luved hir?’