heead i'th' coilskep."

"Nay, tha does cap me nah! Ther'd be a bonny rumpus awl bet. Did ta
hear?"

"Aw heeard nowt noa farther, nobbut some ov his chums gate to know, an
soa they made a subscription, an' bowt him another, an' they had it
painted red, white and blue, an' sent it lapt up i' silk paper. Old Duke
wor ommost malancholy when he saw it, but Mary nobbut laft, an started
on an' blackleeaded it, an' in a varry little time he wor set i'th'
'Quiet Corner,' wi as handsome a peg leg as tha'd wish to see. They
chaff him a gooid bit abaat weddin Mary, but he taks it all i' gooid
part, an' they've sent all sooarts o' presents to him. One day last week
they sent him a creddle, an' Mary wor soa mad wol shoo gate th' blocker
an' wor baan to chop it into chips, and wol shoo wor stormin on, a
little lad coom to th' door an' sed, 'please aw've browt a pair o'
specteckels for old Duke to rock th' creddle in.' An' shoo catched him a
drive at side o'th' heead, wol his een fair blazed, an th' specteckels
flew into th' middle o'th' rooad."

"Well, but it wor hardly reight on her to claat th' lad, coss he knew
nowt abaat it."

"Why tha sees shoo didn't just think abaat it, but shoo made it all
reight at after an gave him a butter cake, an' old Duke sam'd up th'
specs, an' after saigin th' heead off, he turned th' creddle into a
manger for his donkey."

"Well, tha caps me! But has ta heeard abaat that barrel o' ale runnin
away throo old Nipsomes tother wick?"

"Noa, ha wor that? Aw hardly thowt he'd ony ale 'at had strength to run
away."

"O but he has, for th' last gill awe gate fit three on us, an' we left
some then. But it wor sellable stuff, awve had war:--net mich. But awl
tell thi abaat this barrel. Th' brewery cart wor liverin some, an' tha
knows their ale-cellar door is just at th' top o'th' old hill, an th'
cartdriver let a barrel slip, an' away it roll'd daan th' hill slap
agean th' gas lamp, an' it braik th' pooast i' two, an off it went till
it coom to th' wall at th' bottom, when th' barrel end brast aat an' all
th' ale wor wasted. Soa tha sees ther must ha been some strength in it
if it could braik a iron lamp pooast; an' it wor nobbut common ale."

"Well th' loss wodn't be soa varry mich after all, they'll get ovver it.
But has ta heeard they're gooin to turn Bill Summerscales' tripe shop
into a limited liability company?"

"Nay, it's niver true, is it?"

"Its true enuff, for aw've been tell'd all abaat