“It’s like to be whoot,” shoo says, “did ta iver know folk wesh i’ cold watter, tha lumphead?”

“Well, what shall aw have to do?  Aw’m as weet as a sop, to say nowt ov a blister or two.

“Tha mun goa thi ways to bed an’ throw thi clooas daan th’ stairs an, aw’ll see if aw connot dry ’em off for thi.”

Soa up stairs he went an’ flang his weet things daan, sayin’ at th’ same time, “If tha finds any buttons off tha can suit thisen whether tha puts ’em on or net.”

“Aw’ve summat else to do nor sew for thee, tha’s made we wark enuff,” shoo said.

It did’nt tak long for Molly to dry th’ cloas an’ shoo raylee felt sooary for him after all, soa shoo set too an’ stitched him a button or two on, an’ as shoo said, “mensened him up a bit for he wor somebody’s poor lad.”

He wor sooin drest nice an’ comfortable agean an’ then he thowt it wor time to goa an’ see what had come o’ Slinger.

As sooin as he coom near th’ coit he could hear him snoaring away ommost as laad as a trombone.  “Well tha’rt a bonny en” he said “to be paid aght o’th rates for keeping a sharp luk aght.  Aw did think to bring thi summat to sup but its a pity to disturb thi.  Aw’ll try another dodge an see ha’ that’ll act.”

Away he went an’ in a minit or two coom back wi a huggin o’ strea, an’ quietly oppenin th’ door he shoved it in,—­he then walked off mutterin “tha’ll be capp’d when tha wackens owd lad.”

As th’ day began to grow shorter a few owd faces began to peep in to see ha Molly wor gettin on an’ to taste ov her drink.  When ther’d getten abaght a hauf a duzzen on em Jim slipped aght an’ sammed up all he could find i’th’ shape o’ buckets an’ had em filled wi watter an’ not o’ th’ cleanest sooart,—­then he lit a wisp o’ strea just aghtside o’th’ pighoil door an’ waited wall th’ smook had begun to curl nicely up:—­ then he darted into th’ haase an’ bawled aght “Heigh lads! do come,—­ somdy’s set th’ pighoil o’ fire.”

Aght they flew an’ sure enuff thear it wor reekin away’ like a brick kiln.

“Sleck th’ inside first,” says Jim, an’ in a twinklin one pailful after another wor splashed in.  Slinger sooin wacken’d but he wor fast what to mak on it,—­he thowt he must be dreamin ov a storm at sea or summat.

“Howd on!  Howd on!” he yell’d aght “what have yo agate?”

“Do luk sharp lads,” says Jim, “ther’s somdy inside they’ll be burnt to th’ deeath.  Bring some watter some on yo.”

“Ther is noan,” they says, “its all done.”

“Why mucky watter ’ll sleck as weel as clean, give us howd of a pailful o’ swill.  We munnot have th’ poor body burnt to th’ deeath.”

Just as Slinger was rushin aght o’th’ door he gate a reglar dooas ’at ommost floor’d him.

“Nah lads, lets stop a bit, says Jim, aw think th’ dangers ommost ovver,—­lets see who this chap is.  It’s happen somdy at wanted to burn owd Molly aght o’ haase an’ harbor.”