“What Ben o’ Buck’s o’ th’ Brigg? Him as turned informer?” asked my father, letting his pipe out in his amaze.
Mary nodded.
“That comes o’ thi flighty ways,” commented my mother with severity. “If a lass dunnot keep hersen to hersen, but will ha’ a nod for this an’ a smile for that an’ a joke for t’ other, she may know what to expec’. There wor a differ between decent gells an’ hussies when aw wer’ young, but if there’s ony now it’s all i’ favour o’ th’ hussies.”
Mary flushed angrily.
“Nay, nay, Charlotte, yo’ dunnot mean that for yar Mary, aw know,” said my father. “Go on wi’ thi tale, lass. Thi aunt’s put out a bit, these days.”
“Well he did,” continued Mary, “and of course aw’d his answer ready for him.”
“Aw shud think so indeed. It was well for him aw didn’t catch ’im at it. What did ta say, Mary?”
“Nay, aunt, yo’ wouldn’t ha’ me cumber mi mind wi’ such trash. Any road aw sent ’im packin’. Then, about a three week sin’, his owd mother sent for me.”
“Did ’oo send a broom for thee to ride on, th’ owd witch,” put in the tireless tongue, more by way of expressing an opinion of Ben Walker’s mother than a question.
“And aw went,” said Mary.