'"Bless me, bairn," exclaimed the woman, "ye'll mean lile Geordie John. He's my man; en's liggen en theyar," pointing to an inner room, "varra badly. Ye'll be t'doctor, I warn't. Cum, cum yer ways in en see him. Noo I think on't, his reet nyam is John Atkinson, byt he allus gas by lile Geordie John. His fad'r was Geordie, ye kna, an' nobbut a varra lile chap."'
'Capital!' observed Dr. Heriot, as he chuckled and rubbed his hands over this story. 'Bailey told it with spirit, I'll be bound. How well you have mastered the dialect, Mr. Lambert.'
'I made it my study when I first came here. Betha and I found a fund of amusement in it. Have you ever noticed, Heriot, there is a dry, heavy sort of wit—a certain richness and appropriateness of language—employed by some of these Dalesmen, if one severs the grain from the rough husk?'
'They are not wanting in character or originality certainly, though they are often as rugged as their own hills. I fancy Bailey had lived among them till he had grown to regard them as the finest people and the best society in the world.'
'I should not wonder. I remember he told me once that he was called to a place in Orton to see an elderly man who was sick. "Well, Betty," he said to the wife, "how's Willy?"
'"Why," says Betty, "I nau'nt; he's been grumbling for a few days back, and yesterday he tyak his bed. I thout I'd send for ye. He mebbe git'nt en oot heat or summat; byt gang ye in and see him." The doctor having made the necessary examination came out of the sickroom, and Betty followed him.
'"Noo, doctor, hoo div ye find him?"
'"Well, Betty, he's very bad."
'"Ye dunnot say he's gangen t'dee?"
'"Well," returned Bailey, reluctantly, "I think it is not unlikely; to my thinking he cannot pull through."