One Friday neet last summer, ther wor a braik daan at th' shop 'at Dick Taylor worked at, just befoor stoppin time, soa th' ovverlukker telled him 'at it wor noa use his comin i'th mornin, as they wodn't be able to start th' engine agean wol Mundy.
Dick worn't sorry, for it wor fine weather, an' he thowt a day's halliday ud be varry pleasant. When he gate hooam, he telled his missis 'at he wor baan to laik th' next day, an' shoo sed,
"Naah, Dick, ther's a chonce for yo to pleeas me—yo know aw've axed yo all th' summer to tak me raand to see th' parks i' Bradforth, for aw've nivver seen one on em, exceptin Lister's, an' that's becoss it's soa near—they tell me 'at th' flaars i' Peel's park, an' up at Horton, are reeal beautiful."
"We'll goa, Mary," Dick sed, "an' up to Bowlin Park too."
Shoo gave him a kuss, an' gate him his teah, an' let him keep a shillin aght o' his wage, to get some cigars wi' for him to smook when they wor aght th' next day. After braikfast i'th mornin they set off.
They lived near th' Stashun at Manningham, in a haase off Valley Road, soa they cut across, an' ovver th' canal, an' up bi Spinkwell, into th' main road for Peel Park. It wor varry hot, soa bi th' time they gate into th' park, an' lukt at th' flaar beds daan bi th' lake, an' climbed up on to th' terrace, they wor varry glad to sit daan on a seeat near to whear th' band stand is.
Ther's a grand view thro' thear, yo can see reight ovver Bradforth as far as Lister's Milns, an' Queensbury—th' sun wor shinin, an' Dick wor just leetin one o'th cigars when a young man abaat two or three an' twenty coom daan th' walk, huggin' a basket—when he seed em he stopt, an' sed:—
"Can yo give me a match, mate?"
"Eah," Dick sed, "hear's a box, help thisen,"—when he'd leeted his pipe, Mary sed, "This is a varry nice park, sir."
"I," he answered, "an' it's a nice place for coortin in, on a neet when th' band isn't playin—you cannot coom here ov a evenin withaat findin abaat hawf a scooar o' cupples—yo see it's net too near th' taan, wol it's nice an' quiet—but it's net too lonely nawther, a decent lass can coom here wi' her sweetheart, an' nawther her mother nor nubdy else can say owt agean it, for ther's allus somdy awther commin or gooin."