Th’ meoin began to show a bit breeter, an’ after grooapin abaat for a while he sed, “It strikes me it isn’t a horse at all.  Ther’s somdy been playin me a trick.  Awm nooan mich ov a driver at th’ best hand, an’ awd as mich as aw could manage to drive comin, but awm blest if aw can drive a five barr’d gate goo in back!  Awm fast what to do wi’ this lot.”

“Why, what’s th’ matter, Joa?” sed one o’th’ chaps, comin’ up as if he knew nowt abaat it.  “What are ta dooin wi’ th’ heears here at this time o’ neet?”

“That’s what aw want to know,” he sed, an’ he tell’d him all he knew abaat it.

“Well, th’ horse can’t be far off,” th’ chap sed, “they’d nivver tak th’ horse, for it isn’t worth stailin.  It’ll be i’ one o’ theas fields sewer enuff.  We can find it bi mooin leet.”

Joa an him went to seek it, an’ as he knew just whear to find it they had’nt long to luk.  As sooin as ther backs wor turned, tother chaps oppened th’ heears an’ filled it wi’ th’ biggest topstooans off th’ wall ‘at they could lift, an’ when it wor fairly looadened they shut it up agean, an’ left it as if it had nivver been touched.

Joa an’ his friend coom back wi’ th’ horse, an’ had it harnessed up all right, but altho’ it tugged an’ pooled as hard as it could, it did’nt stir th’ heears.

“Its studden soa long wol aw think it must ha’ takken rooit,” sed Joa.

“O, nay, its nobbut settled a bit wi’ th’ graand bein soft.  It’ll goa reight enuff when it gets off.  Tak hold o’ one o’th’ wheels an’ let’s give it a start.”

Th’ old horse pooled its hardest, an’ wi’ th’ help they gave at th’ wheels they set it movin, an’ as sooin as th’ chap saw that, he bid Joa geoid neet an’ left him, tellin him at if it stuck fast he mud get behund an’ thrust a bit.  It hadn’t gooan monny yards when Joa saw he mud awther thrust or stop thear all th’ neet, an’ altho’ th’ rate they wor gooin at wor slow enuff to suit even one a’ Joa’s disposition, yet th’ sweeat rolled off him, for he’d quite as mich to do as th’ horse.  Once or twice he stopt to consider whether he hadn’t better tak th’ horse aght an’ get into th’ shafts hissen.

Abaat two o’clock i’th’ mornin they gate back hooam, an’ old Rodger wor waitin for him in a ragin temper, an’ when he saw his favorite horse, “Old Pickle,” blowin an’ steamin as if it had just come aght ov a mash tub, an’ Joa wi’ a white hat on, he wor sewer he’d been on th’ spree.  He didn’t give him a chance to spaik, but set to an’ called him ivverything he could lig his tongue to Joa tried to explain matters, but it wor noa use.

“Its th’ last time tha’ll ivver drive for me!  Tha’s been ommost twelve haars away!”

“Why, yo sed aw hadn’t to hurry,—­but if my drivin doesn’t suit yo, yo can drive yorsen, an’ welcome; for that horse o’ yor’s wants huggin, net drivin,—­yo did reight to call it ‘Old Pickle,’ for its getten me into a bonny pickle!”

“An what are ta dooin wi’ that white hat?  An’ whears th’ hat aw lent thi?”