for he thowt “the leeast sed an th’ soonest mended.”  But shoo wornt to be done, shoo at it ageean in another tone—­“Eea, aw feel awm gettin waiker—­Waiker ivery day; does ta hear what aw say?” “Hear thi,” he sed, “mi ears are hoof’d wi harkenin to thi.”  “Eea, an they shall be hoof’d,” shoo sed, “for as long as awve breath i’ my body awl tell thi o’ thi faults.  Ha can ta fashion; but if tha doesn’t alter awl niver put legs daan i’ bed wi’ thee agean I Shame o’ thisen! but tha has na shame; tha’rt as brazzen as brass, that’s what tha art!” “Nah, hold thi noise,” he sed.  “Sithee, aw’ve browt thi a bottle o’ whisky; mun, awm allus thinkin on thi.”  “Dooant tell me sich like tales as them, for aw dooant believe thi,” shoo says, “tha thinks tha can get ovver me wi a bottle o’ whisky aw daresay, but tha’rt mistakken; an’ aw dooant know whear tha’s getten that at this time oth’ mornin.”

Jim kept a still tongue in his bead an’ crept quietly into bed, an’ it worn’t long befoor they wor booath asleep.

Nah, it wor varry near time for th’ polieeman to come to wakken Broddington, an’ as he knew nowt abaat th’ flittin he luck’d up at th’ sign, an’ feelin sure at he wor at th’ reight shop he gave a varry gooid rat-a-tat at Clarkson’s door.

“What’s that?” sed his wife, jumpin up; “go daan and see.”

“Net aw,” sed Clarkson, “its nobbut some druffen chaps ’at’s on for a spree.”

“Eea, an they know whear to come it seems!  A’a, if aw wor a man aw should shame to have sich like followin me.”

Another rat-a-tat followed, but Clarkson wor detarmined not to get up, an’ th’ policeman wor just as detarmined to pail at th’ door till he did get up.  Rat-a-tat! rat-a-tat! went his stick time after time, wol at last old Clarkson baanced aght o’ bed an threw up his winder, an’ axed what he wanted; but when he saw a blue coat an’ shinin buttons, he turned raand to his wife an’ sed, “It’s a bobby.”

“Why,” shoo says, “ax him what he wants.”

“What does ta want?” sed Clarkson.

“Nah, then, is noa gooid tryin’ to mak it strange; tha knows aw’ve come here for that whisky, an’ awmean to have it befoor aw goa.”

“O, that’s it, is it?” sed his wife.  “That’s thee ‘at’s browt me th’ whisky?  It’s grand to bring a wife whisky an’ ax a policeman to come sup it.”

“Aw niver ax’d onybody to come, aw dooant know what he wants.”

“That’s a varry nice tale, lad, but tha willn’t mak me believe it; aw know better nor a policeman comin toa haase at hauf-past three ith mornin if he hadn’t been sent for.”

Rat-a-tat! rat-a-tat-tat! went th’ policeman’s stick, an old Clarkson flew to th’ winder an shaats aght, “What th’ d——­ does ta want?”

“Nah, it’s noa gooid thee puttin on an’ makkin it all strange; tha mud as weel come daan sooin as lat, for tha’ll ha to goa wi me an’ th’ whisky an’ all, soa on wi them britches an come daan stairs.”