t say: 'I publish t' banns o' marriage between Tom Pounder,
bachelor, and Anne Coates, spinster, both o' this parish.'"

"Aye, that's reight," said the Colonel, "an' I see what thou's drivin'
at. Thou means Mary Taylor ought to be called spinster. Well, for sure,
I niver thowt o' that."

"It's not likely thou would; thou's noan what I sud call a thinkin' man.
Thy tongue is ower fast for thy mind to keep up wi' it."

"Then what doesta reckon they letters stand for?" asked Besom-Joe.

"There's nowt sae difficult wi' t' letters when you give your mind to
'em," the smith replied. "What I want to know is, if Mary Taylor came
here of her own accord, or if her was putten into t' job by other
fowks."

"I reckon shoo was appointed by t' Eddication Committee."

"Appointed, was shoo? I thowt as mich. Then mebbe 'B.A.' will stand for
'By appointment.'"

The smith's solution of the problem was received with silence, but the
silence implied approval. The Colonel, it is true, smarting under a
sense of defeat, would have liked to press the argument further; but
just then the front door of "The Crooked Billet" was thrown open by the
landlord, and the smithy was speedily emptied of its occupants.

CORN-FEVER

"Sithee, lass, oppen t' windey a minute, there's a love."

"What do you want t' windey openin' for, mother? You'll give me my death
o' cowd."

"I thowt I heerd t' soond o' t' reaper."

"Sound o' t' reaper! Nay, 'twere nobbut t' tram coomin' down t' road.
What makes you think o' reapers? You don't live i' t' country any
longer."

"Happen I were wrang, but they'll be cuttin' corn noan sae far away, I
reckon."

"What have you got to do wi' corn, I'd like to know? If you wanted to
bide i' t' country when father deed, you sud hae said so. I gave you
your choice, sure enough. 'Coom an' live wi' me i' Hustler's Court,' I
said, 'an' help me wi' t' ready-made work, or else you can find a place
for yourself 'i Thirsk Workhouse.'"

"Aye, I've had my choice, Mary, but it's gey hard tewin' all t' day at
button-holes, when September's set in and I think on t' corn-harvist."

There was a pause in the conversation, and Mary, to humour her mother,
threw up the window and let in the roar of the trams, the far-off clang
of the steel hammers at the forge, and the rancid smell of the
fried-fish shop preparing for the evening's trade. The old woman
listened attentively to catch the sound which she longed for more than
anythin