‘Net another hawpney,’ he sed, ‘it’s cost me enuff.’

When they heeard this they all turned agean him at once.  ’If tha doesn’t stand treat,’ sed Jacob, ‘we’ll rub thi name off an’ put on somdy’s else at will.’

‘Yo can put whose yo like on,’ sed Kana.

An’ one o’th’ wimmen coom wi’ a dishclaat an’ wiped it off, for shoo sed ’it wor far to handsome a statty for sich a skinflint as him, as flaysome as it wor.’

Then Jacob gate on to th’ tub agean an’ ax’d who’d stand a gallon to have their name put on, but they all sed they wor hard up an’ couldn’t affoord owt, soa thear it stands, an’ th’ first chap ’at’ll pay for a gallon o’ ale con have his name put on whether he’s a subscriber or net.

Ther’s a chonce for some o’ yo ’at wants a statty.

Owd Dawdles.

Ther’s a deeal o’ tawkin abaat owd-fashioned kursmisses, an’ my belief is ’at moor nor one hauf ’at tawk or write abaat ’em know nowt but what they’ve heeard or read.  Aw’m gien to understand ’at a owd-fashioned kursmiss wor one whear iverything we admire an’ think comfortable wor despised, an’ iverything we have a fear on wor sowt after.  Awm net sewer whether ther wor ivver an owd-fashioned kursmiss withaat a snowstorm, but aw should think net; but as aw have to tell yo what happened one kursmiss when ther wor nawther frost nor snow, but when th’ sun wor shinin, an’ th’ fields wor lukkin as fresh an’ green as if it wer May asteead o’ December, aw shall be foorced to call this a tale ov a new-fashioned kursmiss.  Kursmiss Day wor passed an’ ommost forgotten, but still th’ fowk ‘at live i’ th’ neighborhood o’ Bingly or Keighly nivver think it’s ovver until th’ new year’s getten a start.  Abaat a duzzen sich like had been to Bradforth (as ther wives had been gien to understand on business, but as yo’d ha fancied if yo’d seen ’em, on pleasure), an’ they’d set off to walk hooam, but they called so oft on th’ way, wol what wi’ th’ distance an’ what wi’ th’ drink they wor rare an’ fain to rest thersens when they gate to th’ Bingley Market Cross.  It wor a grand neet, an’ th’ mooin wor shinin ommost as breet as if it wor harvest time; an’ as ther purses wor empty an’ ther pipes full, they argyfied it wor a deeal moor sensible to caar thear an’ have a quiet smook nor to waste ther time in a public haase.  Th’ warst on it is wi’ sich like, ‘at they know soa mich abaat one another an’ soa little abaat onybody else ’at it isn’t oft ’at when they oppen ther maath owt new falls aght, an’ unless ther’s a stranger i’ th’ company things are apt to grow varry dull.

Amang this lot ’at aw’m tellin abaat ther didn’t happen to be a stranger, an’ soa th’ owd tales wor tell’d ovver agean, an’ altho’ some on ’em wor ommost asleep, they allus laft at th’ reight spot, for if they didn’t hear a word ‘at wor sed, they knew th’ time when it owt to come in.  In a bit one on ’em let his pipe tummel an’ mashed it all i’ bits, an’ as nubdy had one to lend him, an’ he’d nowt else to do, he sed:  ‘Did any on yo ivver hear tell abaat Owd Dawdles?’