“A’a soft-heead, that’s th’ wind ‘at its gettin’ off its stummack.  Away wi thi an’ fotch th’ cunstable, as aw tell thi.  But befoor tha gooas, bring me a drop o’ new milk aght o’ th’ mistal, an’ get me a bit o’ breead, an’ awl see if it’ll tak some sops.”

Burt hurried off, an’ in a minit wor back wi a can holdin’ abaat two gallons, an’ a looaf ommast as big as th’ faandation stooan for a church.

“Nay, Burt, what will ta do next, aw’m sure tha’s gooan clean off thi side.  Tha’s browt moor milk nor ud feed all th’ childer i’ Silsden for a month.”

“Doant yo’ be feeared abaat th’ milk,” sed Burt, “awl pay for it; let it have summat to ait.  Tun summat into it.  Aw wonder if it ud like a drop o’ hooam-brewed?” “If tha doesn’t mak thisen scarce aw’ll break ivvery booan i’ thi skin.  Haven’t aw getten enuff to do wi’ this brat, withaat been bothered wi’ thee!  Go and fetch that cunstable when aw tell thi.”

“Well, if aw mun goa, aw’ll goa, but mind what yo’re doing with that thing, an’ dooant squeeze it.”  After lukkin’ at it once moor, an’ seeing it sneeze, he started off to th’ village happier nor any man within a hundred mile.

It didn’t tak Burt long to find th’ cunstable, for he knew th’ haase where he slept most ov his time, and they wor sooin up at owd Mary’s.  They’d a fine time when they gat there too, for th’ child wer asleep, and Mary refused to let onybody disturb it.  Burt declared it wor his, an he’d a reight to see it when he liked; an’th’ cunstable sed he wor armed wi law an’ should tak it into custody whether it wor asleep or net.  Mary’s husband wor upstairs confined to bed wi rhumatics, but th’ dowters had tell’d him all abaat Burt’s adventure, an’ as he could hear all ‘at wor sed, he furst began to feel uneasy, an’ then to loise his temper, soa he seized his crutch an’ ran daan stairs like a lad o’ sixteen, an’ laid abaat him reight an’ left, an’ i’ less nor a minit Burt, th’ cunstable, an’ owd Mary wor aghtside.

“Nah,” he sed, as he stood i’ th’ doorhoil, puffin’ an’ blowin’, wi’ his crutch ovver his shoulder, like a musket, “Aw’ll let yo see whose child that is!  It wor fun i’ my field, an’ it belangs to me.  What my land produces belangs to me, noa matter whether it’s childer or chicken weed!” Things wor i’ this state when one o’ th’ dowters showed her heead aght o’ th’ winder an’ cried, “Mother, it’s wakkened, an’ it’s suckin’ it’s thumb as if it wor clammed to deeath.”  “Mary,” sed th’ owd man, “does ta mean to starve that child to deeath? coss if tha cannot luk after it, aw’ll luk after it mysel’.”  This wor th’ signal for all to goa inside, an’ a bonnier pictur’ yo nivver saw nor that war when owd Mary sat wi’ that little thing on her lap, givin’ it sops, an’ three big, strong, but kind-hearted fellows, sat raand, watchin’ ivvery bit it tuk as if ther own livin’ depended on it.  Ther war a gooid deeal o’ ‘fendin’ an’ provin’, but whear that child coom fra an’ who wor it’s mother noabody could