“Aw’ve no faith i’ th’ counsel ’at’s to be found at th’ bottom o’ an’ ale–pot, ’Si.”
“Who want’s thee to ha? Th’art as bad as Martha for preachin’ these days. Ther’ll be no livin’ for sermons soon. There’s summat beside drinkin’ goin’ off in a public.”
“Well, lets hear it?” I said passively, for I had not much faith in what ’Siah might have picked up in his haunts.
“Aw tell thee tha should get untwisted.”
“Well?”
“Well and well an’ well. Can ta say nowt but well? Doesn’t ta know what aw mean, or mun I tell thee straight out?”
“Aw’ve no’ more notion nor th’ babe unborn,” I said.
“Yo’ know Mr. Scott o’ Woodsome?”
“Of course aw do. Didn’t aw sit next to him at th’ audit, last year?”
“Well yo’ know he’s a magistrate, an’ main good to th’ poor folk, everyone says he is. He’s everyone’s good word, an’ that’s summat out o’ th’ common for a justice.”