hear iverybody stops 'at knows what gooid grub is; an' it's worth
sixpence any time to see Tommy's face when he's mad, an' a shillin to
see his wife's an' hear her laff when shoo's suited). It wor here 'at
this tale wor tell'd to me--its's rayther sorrowful, but then it may
happen to be relished bi some 'at read it.

Sally Bray worn't a beauty, but shoo wor what yo'd call a nice lass. Her
hair an' een wor black as sloes, an' her cheeks wor ommost as red as her
lips, an' they wor like cherries; her teeth wor as white as a china cup,
but her noas worn't mich to crack on. Shoo wor rayther short an' dumpy,
but ther wor allus sich a pleasant smile abaat her face, an' shoo wor
soa gooid tempered at ivvery body liked her an' had a kind word for "awr
Sal," as they called her. Nah Sally worn't like other lasses in one
respect, shoo nivver tawked abaat having a felly, an' if others sed owt
abaat sweethearts an' trolled her for net havin' one, shoo'd luk at 'em
wi her een blazin' like two fireballs, but nivver a word could they get
her to say. Shoo had noa father or mother, nor any relation i' th'
world, unless it wor a brother, an' shoo didn't know whether he wor
livin' or net, for he'd run away to sea when a little lad, an' shoo'd
nivver heeard on him agean; but it wor noaticed 'at when once a sailor
happened to call at th' Lion one day, 'at shoo showed him moor favor nor
shoo'd showed any body else, an' even sat beside him for an haar, to
hear him tell abaat ships an' storms. Well, he wor th' only one shoo
ivver had showed any fancy for, an' he wor th' last, for little moor nor
a year after that Sally had gooan.

Chapter II.

One mornin', about eight or nine months after that sailor's visit, a
young farmer happened to be walkin' across one o' th' fields 'at formed
a part o' th' Crow Tree Farm, when he saw a little hillock wi' fresh
gathered wildflowers, an' bending daan wondering at sich a thing should
be i' sich a place, all lonely an' barren, he noticed some fresh soil
scattered raand it. Rooting wi his fingers, he sooin com to a little
bundle, an' what should he see when he oppened it, but a bonny little
babby, lukkin' as sweet an' pure as th' flaars 'at had been strewed ower
it.

He wor a rough sooart ov a young chap, but noabody could ha handled that
little thing more tenderly nor he did. "That's noa place to bury the
likes o' thee," he sed; "aw dooant know who or what tha art, but tha
shall have a better burying pla