“That’s th’ best way,” I said, and my arm now was where it should be, and Mary reckoned not to know. I’d looked up th’ road an’ down th’ road an’ nobody was coming.
“When aw got in, ’oo dusted a chair wi her apron, an’ not afore it wanted it. Th’ house wer’ like a pig–stye. But I sat down, an’ ’oo stood afore me an’ looked me up an’ down same as if ’oo wer’ vallyin’ me. ‘Aw hope yo’ll know me again next time yo’ see me, an’ that won’t be soon if I’ve my way’ aw thowt, but said nowt.
‘An’ so yo’r Mary o’ Mally’s?’ ’oo said at last.
‘At yo’r service,’ aw said.
‘Yo’re not much to look at,’ ’oo said.
‘Thank yo’ kindly,’ aw answered as polite as never were.
‘But yar Ben’s a reight to ha’ his own way now he’s a gentleman.’
‘A what?’ aw cried.
‘A gentleman. A real gentleman at can ha’ th’ pick o’ th’ country side. He’s nowt to do but howd up his finger naa. It’ll be whistle an’ aw’ll come to yo’, mi lad.’
‘He’s altered strangely,’ aw said.