"Oh, if that's all yo can come in; there's a deeal moor fowk come to tawk to him nor what brings him any wark; but it's happen as weel, for if it worn't for me bein' allus naggin' at him, he'd nivver get done th' bit he does; an as it is, he's hammerin' away when he owt to be i' bed, an' keepin' ivverybody else wakken; but aw've tried to taich him sense wol aw'm fair stall'd, soa he mun goa his own gate an tak th' consequences. Come yor ways; we's find him i' th' far raam makkin marks an' spoilin' cleean paper."
We went up a narrow passage, an as th' door wor oppen aw'd a gooid luk at David an his raam befoor he saw me. It wor a varry little place, wi a varry little winder, an hardly heigh enuff for a chap to stand up in, and all th' walls wor covered wi picturs, an he wor set cloise to th' winder hard at wark at another. He wor a short, fat gooid-tempered-lukkin chap, wi a bald heead an just a bit o' white hair hingin' daan like a fringe all raand, an his cheeks wor as red as a ripe apple, an his hands, brooad an braan, show'd they'd had to face booath wark an weather. As Dolly went in he lukt up an saw me.
"Come in," he sed, "come in do, it's varry whut, sit yo daan. Whativer browt ye up here to-day? Why, yo'll be ommost melted. Can yo sup some buttermilk?" An he filled a glass 'at stood o' th' table, an handed it to me. Aw swollered it, an then aw sed, "Aw thowt as aw'd a bit o' spare time awd just come up an mak yor acquaintance, for awve heeard a gooid deeal abaat yo, an happen yo'll nooan think onny war o' me for comin' bi misel'."
"Tha's done reight to come, lad; aw'm allus glad to see anybody pop in. Aw wor just thrang makkin marks, as awr Dolly calls it, but, as awd nivver onybody to taich me, awm feeared aw havn't getten th' reight way o' gooin abaat it yet. Yo see all theeas picturs? Well, yo'll not think mich on 'em, but sich as they are, they please me, an they niver ait owt."
"An what are ta shappin at nah?" sed Dolly.
"This is to be th' erupshun o' Maant Vesuvius."
"Why, what is it eruptin' for?" sed Dolly. "Aw guess it's like thee, it's nowt better to do? Is that th' reason tha's put so mich brimston' colour abaat it? Ther's nowt better nor brimston' an traitle for curin' erupshuns."
"Dolly, aw've tell'd thee for aboon twenty year 'at tha's noa taste nobbut for summut to ait, an yond lad tak's after thee. Aw'd allus a fancy for my lad to be an artist," he sed, turnin' to me, "but he seems to care moor abaat hawkin' bits o' garden stuff; but then we am't all born alike, an aw made up mi mind nivver to try to foorce him to owt 'at he'd noa hankerin' after, for if aw'd had two trades to pick aght on, an one on 'em had been cobblin, awst ha takken t'other whativver it had been; but aw could ha liked mi lad to ha been summut better, for aw gave him a gooid name when he wor kursened; but yo cannot order theeas things as yo wod."
"Noa; an it's a gooid job yo cannot, for aw've quite enuff to put up wi to have thee messin' abaat as tha does; but aw know varry weel that lad wod ha been a painter if tha'd had patience to taich him. But whear's that pictur' he did paint? Tha'rt fond enuff o' shewin' thi own wark; let's luk at somdy's else."
"He nivver tried his hand but once, an it wor this," he sed, as he' pooled one aght o' th' corner, "an when he showed it me aw'd to luk at it for a long time befoor aw could tell what to mak on it, but at last aw decided it wor a camel; but he wor soa mad 'at he sed he'd nivver paint another so long as he lived, for it wor a drake. Soa, to prevent onybody else makkin sich another mistak, aw've written on th' bottom' This is a drake."