that for nowt, but as tha seems to be a daycent sooart ov a chap, if tha’ll gie me th’ donkey an’ th’ puttates aw’l mak thee a present o’th’ panniers.”  “An’ is that th’ lowest hawpenny tha’ll tak?  Aw wodn’t bate a hair off th’ donkey’s tail at that price; tha knows if tha wants to hear some reglar classified music tha’ll ha to pay.”  “Well, blaze into it,” sed Billy, “an’ aw’l hug th’ panniers mysel.”  “They’re net a gurt weight.” sed th’ chap, “an’ aw dar say they’ll luk as weel o’ thee as o’ it.”  An’ wol Billy wor takkin ’em off th’ donkey an’ puttin ‘em on to hissen, th’ chap sang th’ song ovver ageean, an’ when he’d done he walked off wi’ th’ donkey an’ as mony puttates as he could hug, an’ Billy started off hooam wi his panniers ov his rig, singin, “Aw live, an’ aw’m jolly,” wi such gusto wol th’ fowk coom aght to see whativer ther wor to do, an’ when they saw him huggin th’ panniers they guessed what wor up, an’ shook ther heeads, sarin, “Silly Billy!” Ov coorse when he gate hooam he tell’d his mother abaght it, an’ wad have her listen to this new song.  “Song, be hanged!” shoo sed, “aw’d a deal rather hear that donkey rant nor all th’ songs at iha con cram into thi empty heead.”  An’ away shoo went to get some fowk to follow th’ chap an’ get th’ donkey back agean.

Two or three sooin set off an’ within a few yards o’ where Billy sed he’d been, they fan it quietly nibblin a bit o’ grass bith’ side o’ th’ gutter, for it seems th’ chap had nobbut been havin a bit ov a joak, an’ left it behund.  They gate it hooam agean an’after Billy’s mother had given him a gooid tawkin to, th’ thing dropt.

But aw think aw’st niver forget a marlock some chaps played him one day:  ther wor abaat six on ’em, an’ they made it up to freeten him a bit, an’ mak him believe he wor baan to dee; soa just as he coom off th’ corner o’ one o’ th’ streets, a chap steps up to him.—­“Gooid mornin, Billy! ha does ta feel this mornin, lad?” “Oh!  Furst rate!” “Why aw’m fain to hear it,” he sed, “but, by th’ heart! lad! tha luk’s ill’!” “Does ta think aw do?” “Eea, aw’m sure tha does!” “Why aw dooant feel to ail owt ’at aw know on,’ but aw dooant think ’at this hawkin agrees wi me so weel.”  “Happen net, Billy! it doesn’t agree wi ivery body, but tha mun tak care o’ thisen, nah do!” When he’d getten a bit farther another chap met him:—­“Well Billy!” he sed, “ha’s trade lukkin this mornin lad?” “Things is lukkin rayther black this mornin.”  “Tha luks white enuff onyway, has ta been havin another wick o’ ’cold porrige aitin?” “Nay aw hav’nt! but aw dooant feel quite as weel as aw do sometimes, for aw fancy this job doesn’t agree wi me.”  “Aw dooant think it does bi’ th’ luk on thi, if tha gooas on tha’ll be able ta tak a lodger i’ that suit o’ clooas, tha’ll ha room enuff,—­but tak care o’ thisen, lad.”  Poor Billy wor beginnin to feel poorly already, but when another met him an’ axed him if it wor h’ furst time he’d been aght latly, it knock’d th’ breeath reig aght