Bessy felt backward at putting her hand i' his pocket, but shoo did soa, an' handed th' kay to her fayther, an' in a varry short time he wor hobblin off for a doctor.
Bessy kept bathing his heead, an' in a while he slowly oppened his een an' luk'd raand. 'Ha does ta feel, Joa?' axed Bessy, in a voice as tender as if shoo'd been talkin to a babby. 'Whativer will thi mother say?'
This sooart o' tawk browt Joa to his senses. 'Well, Bessy,' he sed, 'my mother tell'd me aw wor gooin cracked bat aw think awm brokken nah. Whear's thi fayther?'
'Gooan for a doctor; he thinks tha'rt killed, an' he's terrified aght ov his wits.'
'Well, if my heead worn't pratty thick, aw should ha done sellin puttates. But, Bessy, if aw come raand all reight will ta be mi wife? Tell me that?'
'Hold thi noise; tha munnot talk—sithee ha thi heead's bleedin.'
'Neer heed it! My heart'll bleed too if tha willn't ha me;—nah, lass, what says ta?'
'Tha knows mi fayther'll niver agree to it, soa what's th' use o' talkin.'
'But will ta agree to it if he does? That's what aw want to know?'
'If tha'll nobbut hold thi noise aw'll agree to owt;—tha luks moor like burryin nor weddin.'