“Dolly, aw’ve tell’d thee for aboon twenty year ’at tha’s noa taste nobbut for summut to ait, an yond lad tak’s after thee.  Aw’d allus a fancy for my lad to be an artist,” he sed, turnin’ to me, “but he seems to care moor abaat hawkin’ bits o’ garden stuff; but then we am’t all born alike, an aw made up mi mind nivver to try to foorce him to owt ’at he’d noa hankerin’ after, for if aw’d had two trades to pick aght on, an one on ’em had been cobblin, awst ha takken t’other whativver it had been; but aw could ha liked mi lad to ha been summut better, for aw gave him a gooid name when he wor kursened; but yo cannot order theeas things as yo wod.”

“Noa; an it’s a gooid job yo cannot, for aw’ve quite enuff to put up wi to have thee messin’ abaat as tha does; but aw know varry weel that lad wod ha been a painter if tha’d had patience to taich him.  But whear’s that pictur’ he did paint?  Tha’rt fond enuff o’ shewin’ thi own wark; let’s luk at somdy’s else.”

“He nivver tried his hand but once, an it wor this,” he sed, as he’ pooled one aght o’ th’ corner, “an when he showed it me aw’d to luk at it for a long time befoor aw could tell what to mak on it, but at last aw decided it wor a camel; but he wor soa mad ’at he sed he’d nivver paint another so long as he lived, for it wor a drake.  Soa, to prevent onybody else makkin sich another mistak, aw’ve written on th’ bottom’ This is a drake.”

“Tha can say what tha likes, David, but hawf a bad en, an if yo can nobbut catch leets, aw’m sewer ther’s monny a thing less like a drake nor that.  Dooant yo think soa?” shoo sed, turnin’ to me.

Aw sed aw thowt soa, too:  an then David axed me to goa into his study, “For yo mun know,” he sed, “aw’ve a study, an a studio, an a museum, an a wild beast show i, this haase, as little as it is.”

He led the way into another raam abaat as big as that we’d left, an showed me a row o’ shelves filled wi books, an a little table covered wi papers; an aw tell’d him aw thowt he wor quite a literary sooart ov a chap.

“Why,” he sed, “aw’ve allus been fond o’ readin’ sin aw wor a bit ov a lad, an sometimes aw string a line or two together ’at jingles varry nicely, an two or three times aw’ve had some printed i’th’ papers.  Mun, it’s varry nice to be able to sit daan an eease yor mind wi writin’ a bit, even if nubdy reads it.  That lad o’ mine cares nowt abaat it; aw wish he did, for aw believe if he’d takken to study he’d ha been a wonder, for he’s a rare heead—­it tak’s a hat ommost as big as a coil-skep to fit it.  Aw gate him to try one time, an he wor a whole day i’ gettin’ theeas four lines, aw allus keep ’em by me, for aw know he’ll nivver write ony moor.":—­

   ’Aw once wor lost on Norland Moor,
       An’ if aw’d ne’er been fun,
   Mooast likely aw’st a been thear yet,
       An nah mi tale is done.’