“Well, it’s a free country,” said Mary, “an’ there’s no law agen speakin’.”
“By thissen, aw mean.”
“Well, tha cannot, that’s all. If tha’s owt to say to me, tha mun say it afore Ben Bamforth.”
“Ben Bamforth, indeed!” said Mrs. Walker. “Mind yo’r manners, lass, or it’ll be worse for yo’, an’ speik more respectful when yo’ speik to yo’r betters. Does ta know tha’rt speikin’ to two thousand pund?”
“Aw sud say t’ same if aw wer’ speikin’ to th’ king’s mint, if Ben Walker wer’ one o’ th’ stamps,” retorted Mary hotly.
“Yo’ll alter yo’r tune afore th’ week’s out, my lass,” put in Mrs. Walker. “In a word, will ta ha’ our Ben here? What he’s so set on thee for ‘mazes me. But he is set on thee, an’ yo’ sud be thankful he’ll cast a look yo’r way when it’s wi’ th’ quality he sud be speikin’ at this very minnit, i’stead o’ draggin’ his mother up this rutty owd hill to a tumbledown ram–shackle owd sheep–pen not fit for a lady to put her foot inside on. Will ta ha’ him, an’ be a lady in silk an’ satins, an’ a servant o’ yo’r own, an’ a gig to drive abaat in, an’ th’ fat o’ th’ land to live’ on?”
“Noa, aw winnot, aw winnot, aw winnot, so there’s yo’r answer, an’ if he comes near me or after me agen, there’s one’ll fetch as many colours on his back as th’ weaver’s put in his weskit.”
“Then awst dahn to Milnsbrig this very neet,” said Ben Walker, “an’ tell owd Radcliffe all aw know abaat Rawfolds, an’ that long–legged tally o’ yo’rn shall go th’ same gait as Mellor an’ Thorpe.”
And now I had a lucky inspiration—like a flash came into my head what Mr. Radcliffe had said to me: ‘Thank your stars, Justice Radcliffe does not listen to every idle story that comes to his ears.’ So I drew a bow at a venture:
“Go to Mr. Radcliffe and welcome,” I said. “Tha’s been before, an’ told him all tha knows, an’ more nor yo’ could prove, an’ yo’ know nowt came on it. Dost think he’ll tak more heed o’ a second telling?”