"Aw know every fuut o'th greawnd about this part—hill an' hollow, wood and wayter-stid."
"You are getting to a good age, too," continued I.
"Well," said he, "aw'm gettin' boudly on into th' fourth score. Ir breed are a lungish-wynded lot, yo see'n; tak 'em one wi' another."
"You appear to have good health, for your age," said I.
"Well," replied he, "aw ail mich o' nought yet—why, aw'm meyt-whol,[48] an' sich like; an' aw can do a day-wark wi' some o'th young uns yet—thank God for't.... But then aw'st come to't in a bit, yo known—aw'st come too't in a bit. Aw'm so like.[49] Folk connut expect to ha' youth at both ends o' life, aw guess; an' wi mun o' on us oather owd be, or yung dee, as th' sayin' is."
"It's gettin' time to rest at your age, too."
"Whau; wark's no trouble to me, as lung as aw con do't. Beside, yo see'n, folk at's a dur to keep oppen, connut do't wi'th wynt.[50]
"Isn't Grislehurst cold and lonely in winter time?"
"Well; it is—rayther," said he. "But we dunnot think as mich at it as teawn's-folk would do.... It'll be a greyt deeol warse at th' top o' Know hill yon, see yo. It's cowd enough theer to starve an otter to deeoth, i' winter time. But, here, we're reet enough, for th' matter o' that. An' as for company, we gwon a-neighbourin' a bit, neaw an' then, yo see'n. Beside, we getten to bed sooner ov a neet nor they dun in a teawn."
"To my thinkin'," said the old woman, "aw wouldn't live in a teawn iv eh mut wear red shoon."