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d name, Jim o'th' Kiers, saw what appeared to him to be the "inimy" on Lees Moor. "Nah," thought Jimmy, "we're in for't if we doan't mind;" and he straightway went down to Keighley and raised the alarm. It was Sunday, and the soldiers, as luck had it, happened to be on a Church parade. Captain Ferrand at once gave the command--like any dutiful general would do--"To arms!" "To arms!" The soldiers thereupon proceeded to the indicated scene of action; I saw the noble warriors gallop past our house "in arms and eager for the fray." But upon reaching the spot marked out by Jim o'th' Kiers, the soldiers were somewhat puzzled and "sore amazed" to find no enemy--that is to say, nothing to mean aught. Jimmy couldn't understand it: he rubbed his eyes to see if he was awake, but rubbing made "not a bit of difference." The nearest thing which they could even twist or twine into "the inimy" was a poor old man with a pair of "arm-oil" crutches. Jimmy having been severely questioned as to the sincerity of his motive in "hevin' t'sowgers aht," the poor old fellow whom they had fallen upon came in for a turn; but the only explanation he could give was that they had been holding a Ranters' camp-meeting, and that he, not being able to get away as rapidly as he could have wished had been left behind. Now they did make a fool of Jim o'th' Kiers, they did that, and the soldiers were jeered and scoffed at a good deal by the crowd. I, a little, wandering, curiosity-seeking specimen of humanity, was among the latter, and I trow I had as much fun out of the affair as was good for me. A REMOVAL Soon after this skirmishing--you will have to excuse the absence of any dates, I didn't bethink me to keep a diary--my parents removed from Hoylus-end, and went to live at a farm called Wheat-head, in Fell-lane, now known as the Workhouse Farm. CHARACTER SKETCHES My stay at Wheat-head Farm, which lasted about ten years, was to me a very interesting one. I cannot refrain from making a passing allusion to my acquaintance with a character who created quite a sensation at the time. This "character" was no other than "Old Three Laps"--an individual who at his baptism was known as William Sharp. This singularly eccentric specimen of humanity lived at Whorl's Farm, and, as it will be generally known took to his bed through being "blighted" in love. He kept to his bed for about forty years. During the period he was "bed-fast," I often used to
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