He wor worth a gooid bit o’ brass, ’at he’d scraped together someway, but like moor sich like it didn’t mak him a jot happier, an’ he lived as miserly as if he hadn’t a penny.  Even th’ sparrows knew what sooart ov a chap he wor, for they’d goa into iverybody’s back yard for two or three crumbs but his, an’ if one wor iver seen abaat his door, it wor set daan to be a young en ’at wor leearnin wit.  Fowk sed ’at he clam’d his wife to deeath, for he wodn’t pairt wi’ th’ smook off his porrige if he could help it.  Th’ cowdest day i’ winter ther wor hardly a bit o’ fire i’th’ grate, an’ sich a thing as a cannel ov a neet wor quite aght o’ question.  Th’ fowk ‘at kept th’ shop at th’ yard end, sed he did buy a pund when his wife wor laid deead i’th’ haase, but it wor becoss he darn’t stop wi’ a deead body at neet i’th’ dark.  But he’d a dowter, as grand a lass ’as iver a star pept throo a skyleet at; shoo wor a beauty, an’ shoo wor as gooid as shoo wor bonny.  When aw used to see her, shoo used to remind me ov a lily in a assmidden.  Shoo’d noa grand clooas to her back, but what shoo had shoo lined ’em i’ sich a nice style wol they allus luk’d weel.  Monny a chap wished he’d niver seen her, an’ monny a one made up ther mind if shoo wor to be had to get her.  Some tried one way an’ some another, but owd Stooansnatch wor ready for ’em.  Them ’at went honor bright up to th’ door an’ axed, he ordered abaght ther business, an’ them ‘at went creepin abaght th’ haase after dark, he used to nawp wi’ his stick if he could catch’ em.  But ther wor one, a reglar blade, he used to be allus playin some sooarts o’ marlocks, but iverybody liked him except owd Stooansnatch.  He’d gooan wi’ a donkey hawkin puttates an’ turnips an’ stuff for a year or two, an’ as he’d gooan his raand he’d seen Bessy,—­’Bonny Bessy,’ as fowk called her—­an’ th’ neighbors nooaticed ’at if shoo wanted owt, ‘at he allus picked th’ grandest bit he had for her, an’ used to give her far moor bumpin weight nor what he gave them.

He’d gooan as far as to give her a wink once or twice, an’ shoo’d gooan as far as to give him a smile, but that wor all they’d getten to.  But one neet when he’d getten hooam, an’ th’ donkey wor put i’th’ stable, an’ all his wark done, he sat daan ov a stooil an’ stared into th’ fire.

‘What’s th’ matter wi’ thi, Joa?’ sed his owd mother; ’aw see tha’s summat o’ thi mind, hasn’t ta had a gooid day?’

‘Yi! aw’ve had a gooid enuff day, mother, it isn’t that.’

‘Why what is it lad?  Tha luks a wantin.’

‘Yo say reight, an’ aw am a wantin, but aw dooan’t meean to be long.  Aw’ve made up mi mind to get wed, an’ sooin an’ all; for awm sure yo arn’t fit to be tewin as yor forced to be nah.’

’A’a, Joa, tha’rt tryin to fooil thi owd mother awm feeard!  But aw wish aw may live to see that day, for aw think if aw saw thi nicely settled aw could leave this world better content.  But who does ta think o’ havin?  Aw didn’t know tha wor cooartin.’