“Eea, aw believe aw am; but what might yo be wantin’?  If yo’ve owt to sell yo’ve comed to th’ wrang shop, for brass is varry scarce here?”

“Aw’ve nobbut comed to see yor maister,” aw sed; “is he in?”

“Nay, he isn’t, an aw dooant know whear yo’ll find him, for aw’ve niver met him yet; but if it’s awr Dave yo meean, he’s inside, soa yo can walk forrad, an if it’s onny shoes yo want mendin’, aw can see to that as weel as him, for he’s reckonin’ to be thrang this afternoon?”

“Aw’ve nobbut come to have a bit o’ tawk,” aw sed.

“Oh, if that’s all yo can come in; there’s a deeal moor fowk come to tawk to him nor what brings him any wark; but it’s happen as weel, for if it worn’t for me bein’ allus naggin’ at him, he’d nivver get done th’ bit he does; an as it is, he’s hammerin’ away when he owt to be i’ bed, an’ keepin’ ivverybody else wakken; but aw’ve tried to taich him sense wol aw’m fair stall’d, soa he mun goa his own gate an tak th’ consequences.  Come yor ways; we’s find him i’ th’ far raam makkin marks an’ spoilin’ cleean paper.”

We went up a narrow passage, an as th’ door wor oppen aw’d a gooid luk at David an his raam befoor he saw me.  It wor a varry little place, wi a varry little winder, an hardly heigh enuff for a chap to stand up in, and all th’ walls wor covered wi picturs, an he wor set cloise to th’ winder hard at wark at another.  He wor a short, fat gooid-tempered-lukkin chap, wi a bald heead an just a bit o’ white hair hingin’ daan like a fringe all raand, an his cheeks wor as red as a ripe apple, an his hands, brooad an braan, show’d they’d had to face booath wark an weather.  As Dolly went in he lukt up an saw me.

“Come in,” he sed, “come in do, it’s varry whut, sit yo daan.  Whativer browt ye up here to-day?  Why, yo’ll be ommost melted.  Can yo sup some buttermilk?” An he filled a glass ‘at stood o’ th’ table, an handed it to me.  Aw swollered it, an then aw sed, “Aw thowt as aw’d a bit o’ spare time awd just come up an mak yor acquaintance, for awve heeard a gooid deeal abaat yo, an happen yo’ll nooan think onny war o’ me for comin’ bi misel’.”

“Tha’s done reight to come, lad; aw’m allus glad to see anybody pop in.  Aw wor just thrang makkin marks, as awr Dolly calls it, but, as awd nivver onybody to taich me, awm feeared aw havn’t getten th’ reight way o’ gooin abaat it yet.  Yo see all theeas picturs?  Well, yo’ll not think mich on ’em, but sich as they are, they please me, an they niver ait owt.”

“An what are ta shappin at nah?” sed Dolly.

“This is to be th’ erupshun o’ Maant Vesuvius.”

“Why, what is it eruptin’ for?” sed Dolly.  “Aw guess it’s like thee, it’s nowt better to do?  Is that th’ reason tha’s put so mich brimston’ colour abaat it?  Ther’s nowt better nor brimston’ an traitle for curin’ erupshuns.”