“Nah, owd lass,” said one, “let’s have hauf-a-gallon o’ stiff-shackle, an luk sharp.”

“What do yo want, maister?  I think yo’ve come to th’ rang haase; do yo tak this to be a jerry-hoil; or ha?” said Molly. (They’d ta’en care to leave Slinger aghtside, cos they knew he’d be owned.)

“Nay, nah come,” they said, “its all reight mun, here’s th’ brass, sithee, fotch a soop up, for we’re all three as dry as a assmidden.”

“Why, if yo are reight dry,” shoo says (an bith’ mass they wor, for they’d been walkin’ a bit o’ ther best), “ther’s lots o’ watter ith’ pot under th’ table, but be as careful as yo con, for it bides a deal o’ fotchin’—­but aw wodn’t advise yo to fill yor bellies o’ cold watter when yo’re sweatin’, its nooan a gooid thing mun.  Have yo come fur?  Yo luk as if yo’d been runnin’ aght oth’ gate o’ summut, but aw hope yo’ve been i’ noa sooart o’ mischief:  hasumever, sit yo daan an cooil a bit.”

They set em daan, for they wor fessened what to do, an at last one on em whispered, “aw believe Slinger’s been havin’ us on, seekin’ th’ fiddle, but if he has, we’ll repoort him an get him discharged like a shot.”

“Why,” said another, “ha is it he isn’t here?  Where’s he gooan?”

“He’s hid hissen ith’ pigcoit just aghtside.  Aw expect he’ll be ommost stoled o’ waitin’ bi this, but let him wait, he desarves it for bringin’ folk o’ sich eearands as theease, We’st nobbut get laft at when we get back, soa what think yo if we goa an say nowt abaght it?  He’ll nooan stop long aw’ll warrant.”

“Well, nowt but reight,” they said; soa biddin’ th’ owd woman gooid day, they set off back.  When they went aght, Jimmy crope throo under th’ langsettle, an’ lukin’ at Molly, he said, “Nah, have aw done thi a gooid turn this time owd craytur?”

“Tha has, Jim, an aw’m varry mich obleeged to thi, lad,” shoo says, “an tha shall have another quart at my expense.”

“Net yet, thank thi, Molly.  Aw havn’t done wi this—­ther’s a bit ov a spree to be had aght on it yet mun, aw heeard ivery word at they said, an what does ta think!  They’ve left Slinger ith’ pigcoit waitin’, an aw meean to keep him theear for a bit.”  Soa sayin,’ he quietly crept aght, an went raand to th’ back o’ th’ pigcoit.

“Slinger! are ta thear?”

“All reight, lad; have yo fun ought?”

“Nut yet, but we’re just gooin to do; tha munnat stir, whativer tha does.  Its a rare do is this.  It’ll be th’ makin’ on us, mun.”

“Does ta think we shall get made into sargents?” axed Slinger.

“I lad, an corporals too, aw’ll be bun; but bowd thi whisht, whatever tha does—­we’ll come for thi as sooin as we want thi; does ta think tha could sup a drop o’ summat if tha had it?”

“Aw wish aw’d chonce, that’s all.’”

“Well, bide thi time, an aw’ll send thi some.”

Jim then walked away, an leavin’ Slinger screwed up like a dishclaat, he went into th’ haase, and call’d for a quart.