‘And hoo walked aat o' th' warehaase like a queaan. An' dun yo' remember, Betty, haa th' young gaffer laffed at me, an' said as aw could noan play wi' th' likes o' yo'?’
‘Yi, aw remember, Malachi; but ged on wi' yor tale. Mr. Penrose here is fair plagued.’
‘Indeed, I'm not. Go on, Malachi. Take your own time, and tell your story in your own fashion.’
‘Aw will, Mr. Penrose, if hoo'll nobbud let me. Betty were a four-loom weyver; and i' those days there wernd so many lasses as could tackle th' job. An' th' few that could were awlus piked up pratty quick for wives—for them as married 'em had no need to work theirsels, and had lots o' time on their hands for laking (playing) and such-like. Bud that wernd th' reason aw made up to Betty. It wernd th' looms that fetched me; it were her een. There's some breetness in 'em yet; bud yo' should ha' sin 'em forty years sin'! They leeted up her bonnie cheeks like dewdrops i' roses; an' noabry 'at looked i' them could see ought wrang i' 'em.’
‘Malachi, if thaa doesn't hold thi tung I'll smoor (smother) thee wi' this stockin'. Thaa'rt as soft as when thaa were a lad;’ and the old woman held up the article of clothing that she was darning in her hand, and shook it in a threatening manner at her eloquent spouse.
‘In a bit, Mr. Penrose, I geet as I couldn't for shame to look into Betty's een at all; an' then aw took to blushin' every time hoo come i' th' warehouse wi' her pieces, an' when hoo spoke, aw trembled all o'er like a barrow full o' size. One day hoo'd a float in her piece, and aw couldn't find it i' mi heart to bate her. And when th' manager fun it aat, he said if I'd gone soft o'er Betty, it were no reason why aw should go soft o'er mi wark, and he towd me to do mi courtin' i' th' fields and not i' th' factory. But it were yeasier said nor done, aw can tell yo', for Betty were a shy un, and bided a deal o' gettin' at.
‘There used to be a dur (door) leadin' aat o' th' owd warehaase into th' weyvin' shed, an' one day aw get a gimlik an' bored a hoile so as aw could peep thro' an' see Betty at her wark. It wernd so often as aw'd a chance, bud whenever th' manager's back were turned, an' aw were alone, I were noan slow to tak' my chance. It were wheer I could just see Betty at her looms. Bless thee, lass, aw think aw can see thee naa, bendin' o'er thi looms wi' a neck as praad as a swan's, thi fingers almost as nimble as th' shuttle, an' that voice o' thine treblin' like a brid!’
‘Do ged on wi' yor tale, Malachi; what does Mr. Penrose want to know abaat lasses o' forty year sin'? He's geddin' one o' his own—and that's enough for him, aw'm sure.’
‘Aw nobbud want him to know that there were bonnie lasses i' aar time as well as i' his—that were all, Betty.’