ith incisive scorn to the other lad, who
slinked sulkily out of sight.

"Owd Sammy Craddock," lounging at his window, clay pipe in hand, watched
Anice as she walked away, and gave vent to his feelings in a shrewd
chuckle.

"Eh! eh!" he commented; "so that's th' owd parson's lass, is it? Wall,
hoo may be o' th' same mate, but hoo is na o' th' same grain, I'll
warrant. Hoo's a rare un, hoo is, fur a wench."

"Owd Sammy's" amused chuckles, and exclamations of "Eh! hoo's a rare
un--that hoo is--fur a wench," at last drew his wife's attention. The
good woman pounced upon him sharply.

"Tha'rt an owd yommer-head," she said. "What art tha ramblin' about now?
Who is it as is siccan a rare un?"

Owd Sammy burst into a fresh chuckle, rubbing his knees with both hands.

"Why," said he, "I'll warrant tha could na guess i' tha tried, but I'll
gi'e thee a try. Who dost tha think wur out i' th' street just now i'
th' thick of a foight among th' lads? I know thou'st nivver guess."

"Nay, happen I canna, an' I dunnot know as I care so much, neyther,"
testily.

"Why," slapping his knee, "th' owd parson's lass. A little wench not
much higher nor thy waist, an' wi' a bit o' a face loike skim-milk, but
steady and full o' pluck as an owd un."

"Nay now, tha dost na say so? What wor she doin' an' how did she come
theer? Tha mun ha' been dreamin'!"

"Nowt o' th' soart. I seed her as plain as I see thee an' heerd ivvery
word she said. Tha shouldst ha' seen her! Hoo med as if hoo'd lived
wi' lads aw her days. Jud Bates and that young marplot o' Thorme's wur
feightin about Nib--at it tooth and nail--an' th' lass sees 'em, an'
marches into th' thick, an' sets 'em to reets. Yo' should ha' seen her!
An' hoo tells Jud as he's a good lad to tak' care o' his dog, an' hoo
does na know but what hoo'd fowt hersen i' his place, an' hoo ca's Jack
Thorme a coward, an' turns her back on him, an' ends up wi' tellin' Jud
to bring th' tarrier to th' Rectory to see her."

"Well," exclaimed Mrs. Craddock, "did yo' iwer hear th' loike!"

"I wish th' owd parson had seed her," chuckled her spouse irreverently.
"That soart is na i' his loine. He'd a waved his stick as if he'd been
king and council i' one, an' rated 'em fro' th' top round o' th' ladder.
He canna get down fro' his perch. Th' owd lad'll stick theer till he
gets a bit too heavy, an' then he'll coom down wi' a crash, ladder an'
aw'--but th' lass is a different mak'."

Sammy being an oracle