ut I towld him, "Beaent o' naw use--
She's as mooch of a Chris'en as moaest," I sez, "if she's nobbut a guse!"
Coom, then!

(_This coaxingly, to an imaginary bird--be careful not to seem to make
any invidious distinctions among your audience._)

... Naaey, but she wunna! she's gotten a wull of her oaen!
Loook at the heye of her,--pink an' greey, loike t'fire in a hopal
stoaen!
Howsiver she sims sa hinnercent-loike, she's a follerin' arl I saaey:
An' I boaert 'er at Kettleby Feaer, I did, two yeaer coom Cannelmas Daaey.
Araminta her neaeme is--but I carls 'er "Minty," fur shoaert,
She weaent naw moor nor a goslin' o' coorse, what taime she wur boaert:
But a' knawed she'd turn oot a rare 'un, to jedge by her weeight an'
feael,
An' I reckoned to fat her by Michaelmas Eve, ef I buzzled 'er oop wi
meael,
Mayhappen ya'll ardly beleaeve ma--but she unnerstood fra' the fust,
What wur hexpected of 'er, (_with a senile chuckle_,) I thowt that
burr'd 'ud ha' bust!
Cram her, a' did! but she swuckered it doon, wi' niver a weaested drop,
Fur she tuk that hinterest in it as she'd ruther ha' choaeked nor stop!
An' she'd foller wheeriver a went--till I hedn't naw peaece fur t' foaek,
"'Ere be TAMMY long of his sweetart!" wur hallus the village joaek!
An' I'd saaey: "'Tis ma Michaelmas denner _I'm_ squirin' aboot, owd chap!"
An' Minty she'd stan' up a' tiptoe, an' fluther her neck, an' flap!
Did I 'appen to gaw of a hevenin, to loook at ma hinion patch?
Minty 'ud coom in along o' meae, an' rarstle aboot, an' scratch,
Cocking her heye at the bed o' saaege, with a kink as mooch as to saaey:
"Wull the saaege an' th' hinions be ready fur _meae_, by toime I be ready
for theey?"
Or she'd snifter at arl the windfalls as ligged i' the horchard graaess,
_I_ knawed what she wur erfter, a did--she wur pickin' 'em oot for the
saaess!
An' I'd roob ma ands fur to see her a ploddlin' across th' roaerd,
(_Tenderly._) "Thee'll mak' a denner, ma pratty," I'd saaey to her, "fit
fur a loaerd!"
Maaein an' boolky she wur as Michaelmas week coom nigh,
"Her'll niver not bulge naw bigger," I sez, "an she art fur to die!"
I knawed she wur doitlin' soomwheer by the pasture under t' moor,
Sa I fetched the chopper an' fettled 'im oop--an' I went fur to do 'er!
(_Grimly._)
An' I chillupped to Araminty, an' oop she rins with a clack,
"Seeae what I've gotten to show 'ee