“No, what about him? Ben o’ Buck’s yo’ mean?”
“Aye, t’ same felly, him at run away fra Long Tom.”
“Well, what on him?”
“He’s been after her agen.”
“Who? Tom?”
“No’, guise ang thee, Ben o’ Buck’s. Martha tell’d me. But aw reckon he’ll noan come agen in a hurry. ’Oo sent him away wi’ a flea in his yer ’oil, bi all accounts.”
“Aye?”
“Aw cannot tell what t’ ar’ thinkin, on, Ben. It’s no bizzness o’ mine, but there ’oo is, ripe an’ bloomin’ an’ ready to be plucked. ’As ta no een i’ thi yed, at tha leaves her for all th’ gallus birds i’ th’ country to pluck at when ’oo’s thine for th’ askin’?”
“Stuff an’ nonsense, ’Si. We winnot talk about it. But what about Walker?”
“Nay, aw dunnot know all th’ tale. Martha’s ready enough to talk about some things, particular about th’ iniquity o’ a pint o’ ale. But ’oo just gave me to understand ’at Walker’s popped to Mary, an’ Mary’s as cross as a bear wi’ a sore ear.”