seven feet, an' he wor soa small he luk'd like a
walkin clooas prop. Talk abaat skin and grief! aw niver did see sich a
chap, an' his face luk'd to be all teeth an' een. He used to waive a bit
at one time, but he gate seck'd becos his maister catched him asleep in
a stove pipe. But one day he wor wanderin abaat, an' wonderin ha to get
a livin, an' in a bit a chap comes up to him, an' says, 'Does ta want a
job?' 'Aw do that, can yo find me one, maister?' he sed. 'Well,' says
th' chap, 'tha'rt just th' lad 'at aw want if tha'll goa, for aw keep a
druggist's shop at Sowerby Brig, an' if tha'll stand i'th' winder an'
flay fowk into fits as they goa past, aw'll gie thee a paand a wick.'
'It's a bargain,' he sed, 'an' he went wi' him, an' aw've been tell'd
'at that druggist made a fortun i' twelve months wi nowt but sellin fit
physic. Whether that's true or net aw will'nt say, but aw'm sure ther's
some fowk at Sowerby Brig 'at dooant seem altogether reight even yet.

An' its hardly to be wondered at, for one hauf o'th' fowk we meet i'th'
streets on a neet, seem to be druffen. Aw hear some queer tales
sometimes, but aw dooant tell all aw know. 'Ale sellers shouldn't be
tale tellers.' But aw'm sooary to say at th' mooast ale sellers at' aw
know are varry fond o' taletellin. Ther's nowt shows a chap's littleness
as mich as to be allus talkin abaat his own or somdy else's private
affairs; an' ther's nowt likely to produce moor bother nor that system
o' tittle tattlin abaat other fowk's consarns. Ther's a deal o' blame
ligg'd o' th' wimmen sometimes, for gossipin ovver a sup o' rum an' tea:
an' noa daat its true enuff, but aw think some o' th' men hav'nt mich
room to talk, for they gossip as mich ovver ther ale as ivver wimmen do
ovver ther tea. Little things 'at's sed in a thowtless way sometimes
cause noa end o' bother, an' it's as weel to be careful for ther's
trouble enuff. A chap an' his wife 'at lived neighbors to me, had a word
or two one neet, an' soa shoo went up stairs to sulk; an' when he sat
daan to his supper he thowt he'd have her on a bit, soa he cut all th'
mait off a booan, an' then he sed to' his oldest lass. 'Here, Mary! Tak
this up stairs to thi mother an' tell her 'at thi father has sent her a
booan to pick.' Th' lass tuk it up to her mother an' tell'd her 'at her
father'd sent it, an' as sooin as shoo saw it, shoo says, 'Tak it him
back, an' tell him 'at he isn't thi father, an' that'll be a booan for
him to