ll, John," he sed, "an' what's browt thee here this mornin'?"

"Nay, nowt 'at means mich, Jim; but aw've heeard a gooid deal o' tawk
abaght thy pills, an' aw thowt they'd happen do me a bit o' gooid; but
aw wanted to have a bit o' tawk to thee th' first abaght it, for tha
knows one sooart o' physic doesn't do for iverybody."

"Tha'rt just mistakken abaght that, John, for my pills cure owt; they're
oppenin' pills, an' although aw'm a chap 'at doesn't like to crack
abaght misen, aw con just tell thee a thing or two 'at'll mak thee
stare."

"Well, that's what aw want, Jim, s'oa get on wi' thy tellin'."

"Aw hardly know whear to begin, but, hasumiver, aw'll tell thee one
thing: ther's lots o' fowk livin' raand abaght here 'at's been oppen'd
by em, an' to some tune too; an' although aw consider physic an evil at
all times, still my pills must be regarded as a necessary evil. A chap
once coom to see me, an' browt a lot o' oysters, but he wor fast ha to
get into 'em; aw made noa moor to do but just put two or three pills
amang 'em, an' they wor oppen'd in a minit. He sed he'd niver seen sich
a thing afoor. An' if tha con keep a secret, aw'll tell thi summat else
but tha munnot split. One neet just at th' end o' last summer, a
queer-lukkin' chap coom an' sed he didn't feel vary weel, an' he'd come
to me becoss he didn't want tother doctors to know; soa aw axed him who
he wor. He didn't like to tell me for a bit, but at last he sed' he wor
th' Clerk o'th' Weather Office, an' he'd just getten a day off, bi th'
way ov a leetnin'.' 'Well,' aw says, 'aw'll gie yo a box o' pills, an'
yo mun tak two ivery neet.' He thanked me an' went away, an' aw've
niver seen a wink on him sin, but tha may be sure it's them pills 'at we
have to thank for sich a oppen winter as we've had, for as aw sed
befoor, they'll oppen owt."

"Well, Jim, tha fair caps me! Aw wonder tha hasn't made a fortun befoor
nah! But aw dooant think aw want ony pills, tho' aw'm badly enough."

"Why, what does ta ail? Has ta getten th' backwark, or th' heeadwark, or
does ta feel wamly sometimes an' cannot ait?"

"Nawther, John; it's summat else nor that."

"Why, is it summat 'at tha has o' thi mind!"

"Noa, it isn't mi mind, it's mi understandin' 'at's 'sufferin'. Th'
fact is, Jim, aw'm troubled wi' a bunion."

"Let's luk at it," says Jim, "ther's nowt easier to cure nor a bunion."

John took off his shoe an' stockin', an' when Jim saw it he sed, "Oh, aw
see what