“Well yo’see, there’s a seet o’ Bamforths i’ Holme, an’ four on ’em’s Bills. It’ll be Bill o’ Luke’s yo’r wantin’, or happen Bill o’ Nan’s Back Side.”
“I mean William Bamforth, who has a son called Ben.”
“Well, he’s noan at wom. He’s i’ Macclesfield. But aw munnot stop talkin’ here. Aw’m churnin’, an’ th’ butter’s just on th’ turn. Aw’ll tell him a felly come to see him.”
“Not so fast, my good woman.”
“I’ll trouble yo’ to keep a civil tongue in yo’r head. My name’s Martha. Don’t ‘Good woman’ me, if yo’ please.”
“Where’s yo’r mistress?”
“’Oo’s i’ bed. ’Oo’s ill. ’Oo’s getten th’ small pox, an’ tha’d better be off afore th’ smell on it comes dahn stairs an’ smittles thee.”
“I’m sorry to seem rude, my sweet Martha. But duty’s duty. I must search yo’r house.”
“If tha comes in aw’ll set th’ dog at thee. Here Vixen, Vixen.” And Martha called to an imaginary bitch.
There was a slight scuffle, and someone strode into the house.