stoppin i' front o' Tom, he said, "Well, Tom, aw allus
thowt 'at tha wor fond o' tinklin at all sooarts o' jobs, but aw didn't
gie thee credit for being able to do owt like this."

"Why, yo' see, maister, its born i' some fowk,' replied Tom. "Nah when
aw wor a lad aw once made a tin whistle aght ov a brass canel-stick, an'
they could ha' played on it too, but it tuk sich a deal o' wind, but
ther wor a chap 'at used to come to awr haase 'at blew it mony a time."

"Tha doesn't say soa! A'a, what a thing it is to be born wi' sich a
heead as thine; aw wonder tha doesn't crack thi brain wi' studdyin soa
mich abaght things. Aw've thowt mony a time when aw've heeard fowk tawk
abaght thee 'at its a thaasand pities thi mother hadn't twins."

"Why," said Tom, "aw think sometimes 'at if aw'd been edicated aw should
happen a capt somdy; but that's Sally's fooit, aw think."

Sally browt th' saig, an' after a gooid deal o' squarin abaght, Tom said
"Aw think th' best plan 'll be to cut th' lot off to start wi', an' then
we can mak 'em what length we want 'em."

"Suit thi sen, tha owt to knaw," said th' landlord, an' Tom began to
saig away. He'd getten th' hauf on 'em cut, when up comes th' chap at
they'd borrowed it on. "I understand you've had an accident," he said,
"but I hope its not much worse?"

"Well, it has getten a bit ov a shake," says Tom, "but aw think we'll be
able to mak it all square agean in a bit."

"Why, my dear fellow, what are you doing? You are destroying the whole
affair--you are cutting the action!"

"Action! What action? What does ta mean?" says Tom.

"Why, you are cutting the working part all to pieces!"

"Warkin pairt! Aw'm dooin nowt o' th' sooart--its th' playing pairt 'at
aw'm cuttin; but if aw ammot dooin reight, tak th' saig an' lets see ha
tha'll do it."

"No, indeed--I shall have nothing to do with it--the whole thing is
ruined; and the landlord will have to pay me for it, so I wish you a
very good day."

Tom an' th' landlord watched him aght o'th' seet, an' for a minit or two
nawther on 'em spake, but 'at th' last th' landlord says, "What's to be
done, Tom? what's to be done?"

Tom seemed as dumb as th' peanner an' dived his hands into his britches
pockets varry near up to th' elbows.

"If aw wor yo maister," he said, "aw wodn't bother ony moor wi' this to
day, for ther's a deal o' tinklin wark to be done at it afoor its fit
for mich; aw'd shove it into a corner an' say nowt abaght it