chap i' all Maant Pleasant if yo'd
heeard her: an' shoo ended up wi' sayin' 'at shoo wished awd be a bit
mooar like a chap 'at lives next door to us called Martin Robertshaw.

"He doesn't bet," shoo sed, "he doesn't smook, hes a daycent gradely lad
is Martin, he wor off at hawf past eight this mornin' daan to th' Sundy
Schooil--yo'll nivver catch him drinkin' at public haases an' bettin'
abaat deead pigs--his missis is a lucky woman if ivver ther wor one."

Its noa use i' th' world tawkin' to Sarah when shoo gets reight on, soa
aw nivver spake a word wol shoo'd finished, an' then aw sed,

"Have yo finished yor sarmon, missis?"

"Yes," shoo went on, "it's noa gooid tawkin' to sich as yo, it's nobbut
wastin' breeath, yo'll goa yor own gate aw expect i' spite o' all aw can
say."

"Well," says I, "it's hawf past twelve, lets have us dinners for awm dry
after this storm, an' as its a fine day we'll goa up to th' top o'
Beacon Hill for a walk an' see th' view o' th' taan."

Soa we had us dinner an set off.

Beacon Hill's weel known i' Halifax, it soars up at th' bottom o' th'
taan as bare an' bald as a duck egg; ther's norther a tree, nor a shrub,
an' aw dooant think thers a blade o' grass that even a moke wod ait,
unless it belanged to a Irishman an' wor hawf clammed. It lets th' east
wind on to th' taan throo a hoil at one end, an it keeps th' mornin' sun
off, an' hides th' evenin' mooin. It grows nowt nobbut stooans covered
wi' sooit, an' smook throo th' gas haase hangs ovver it all day long
like a claad. But up at th' top thers some stooan delves, an' a field or
two whear they say reeal grass grows, an' i' support o' this noashun
somdy's had th' cheek to turn hawf a dozen cows aght, an' let 'em
pretend to graze,--of cooarse its all mak believe, for they mun gie th'
poor brewts summat to ait beside, or else th' inspector for crewelty to
annimals wod have been daan on em befoor nah.

It's a long gate up Beacon Hill--yo goa up New Bank an' ovver Godly
Brig, in between th' Bloody Field an' Saint Joseph's Schooil, an' then
reight up to th' top, an' if it wornt for th' fact at thears a gooid few
public haases o'th road aw dooant think 'at Sarah wod ivver have getten
to th' top at all; for shoo wor tuk bad wi' th' spasms jist at th' side
o' th' Pine Apple, an shoo had attacks ivvery few minnits wol we gate to
th' Albion, which is th' last licensed haase; but bi gooid luck they
didn't coom on after that, for as thers noa