{31b}
Scene: Inside of a Cottage. Old Woman and a little Boy. Knock heard at the door. Enter another Woman.
1st Wom. A-deary me, Mrs. Cox, who’d ha’ thowt of seeing thee! Why thou’rt quite a sthranger.
Mrs. Cox. Well, I thowt I’d joust coom and see t’now t’hast flitted; its a sthrange nice’t house, Mrs. Davy.
Mrs Davy. Oh, its nice’t enouf; but t’would ha’ beean a deal nice’ter if they had beean cha’ambers i’steed o’ parlours. When I’m a sitting here o’ wi’indy da’ays there’s sich an a draft. Lor’ it is some cowd!
Mrs. Cox. Well I can’t say as thou hast got a very good roo’ad up to it, and this howry da’ay maes it clattier still. As I was a-crossing the beck t’was so slape, down I coomed with sich a belk; I’m quite wetchard, and I could hardlins get out. But who’s that bairn?
Mrs Davy. Why my maister’s uncle to him; his poor father was sla’ain last Pag-rag Daay;* he was remmeling a sta’ay when it fell right-a-ways upov his yead and killed him. He left two poor bairns, a little boy and a little gel; and my maister ses, “Well, missus,” says he, “we mun ta’ak toner—which is’t to be?” Now I beant noways fond o’ bairns, they’re allost a-tewing and a-taving about, and making sich an a clat; but I ses, well then we’ll hev t’little boy, he can addle a penny now and then wi’ tenting craws, and he is a gallace’t little chap, I’ll apaud; when he’s grawn up he’ll ma’ak a wakkenish bla’ade, though now it offens caps me what to do wi’ him; and t’ little lass is but a poor wanckle creetur. She has joust hed sich a bout wi’ the fever.
* “Pag-Rag Day is the day in May when all the farm servants leave their places and pag (Lincolnshire for pack or carry) away their rags.
Mrs. Cox. Well, I mun be a-going whoam, but what hes got t’gardin?
Mrs. Davy. Thou may well ast. T’other da’ay I heerd sich an a bealing, and when I looked, some beast had brok out o’ Mr. Ward’s crew, and there they was a-ramping about the gardin. I was flinging some sto’ans at ’em to get ’em out, when one of the sto’ans fell right into a cletch of young gibs, and killed one on ’em. Well, there was Mr. Ward down upov me in a moment, a-telling me I mun pa’ay for killing t’gib. “Pa’ay thee,” I ses, “it’s t’other-way-on: it’s thou as ought to pa’ay me. Joust look where them there beast hev been trampling up the tonhups and yeating the pays, and breaking down the pipricks, and not a rasp nor a berry shall I hev t’year wi ’em.” “Ma’aking sich an a blather about it” he ses, “why t’gardin has ta’aken no payment; look at them ta’ates and {32a} the marquery."* Aye, I ses, them’s the only things they’ve left, and I’d a deal sooner they’d ta’en the marquery; for we’ve had such a vast sight of it, I’m clear stalled.
* Marquery is a vegetable that seems peculiar to Lincolnshire. It resembles spinach.
Mrs. Cox. Well, ni’bour, I really mun go; but I can’t get this door opened no ways.
Mrs. Davy. Why thou’rt sthrange and unheppen. What meagrims art thee up to? Thou mo’an’t pull i’ that how; thou nobbut hes to pull the sneck. That’s reight, good da’ay to thee.
C.P.T.