‘An' I'll tell him abaat Edge End “Messiah,” and thi marlock wi' th' owd piccolo.’
‘Supposing I hear both stories,’ said the minister. ‘Then I can apply both, and judge between you.’
‘Oh! there's nowt in 'em,’ replied Enoch. ‘Sometimes, thaa knows, when hoo's a bit fratchy, I plague her wi' tellin' o' Dickey o' Wams, who wor talkin' abaat his wife's tantrums, when his maisther stopped him and said, “Dickey, wherever did ta pike her up?” and he said, “Oh, 'mang a lot more lumber up Stackkirk way.”’
As this story was told with all the dry humour of which Enoch possessed so large a share, both the old woman and Mr. Penrose crowned it with a hearty laugh, the minister turning to his hostess and saying:
‘Now, Mrs. Ashworth, it's your turn. What about the Edge End “Messiah”?’
‘Mun I tell him, Enoch?’
‘Yi, owd lass; id 'll pleeas thee, and noan hurt me. Brast (start) off.’
‘Well, yo' mun know, Mr. Penrose, they were givin' th' “Messiah” at Edge End. Eh! dear, Enoch,’ sighed the old woman, stopping short in her story, ‘it's thirty year sin' come next Kesmas.’
‘Yi, lass, it is. There's some snow fallen sin' then.’