human
One Sunday mornin', just afore th' sarvice began, some o' th' singers slipt a hawp'oth o' grey peighs an' two young rattons into old Thwittler double-bass; an' as soon as he began a-playin', th' little things squeak't an' scutter't about terribly i' th' inside, till thrut o' out o' tune. Th' singers couldn't get forrud for laughin'. One on 'em whisper't to Thwittler, an' axed him if his fiddle had getten th' bally-warche. But Thwittler never spoke a word. His senses wur leavin' him very fast. At last, he geet so freeten't, that he chuck't th' fiddle down, an' darted out o'th chapel, beawt hat; an' off he ran whoam, in a cowd sweet, wi' his yure stickin' up like a cushion-full o' stockin'-needles. An' he bowted straight through th' heawse, an' reel up-stairs to bed, wi' his clooas on, beawt sayin' a word to chick or chighlt. His wife watched him run through th' heawse; but he darted forrud, an' took no notice o' nobody. 'What's up now,' thought Betty; an' hoo ran after him. When hoo geet up-stairs th' owd lad had retten croppen into bed; an' he wur ill'd up, e'er th' yed. So Betty turned th' quilt deawn, an' hoo said. 'Whatever's to do witho, James?' 'Howd te noise!' said Thwittler, pooin' th' clooas o'er his yed again, 'howd te noise! I'll play no moor at yon shop!' an' th' bed fair wackert again; he 're i' sich a fluster. 'Mun I make tho a saup o' gruel?' said Betty. 'Gruel be ----!' said Thwittler, poppin' his yed out o' th' blankets. 'Didto ever yer ov onybody layin' the devil wi' meighl-porritch?' An' then he poo'd th' blanket o'er his yed again. 'Where's thi fiddle?' said Betty. But, as soon as Thwittler yerd th' fiddle name't, he gav a sort of wild skrike, an' crope lower down into bed.
gpt
Well, well, said the old woman, laughing, and laying her knitting down,
human
Stop, Nanny, said Skedlock,
gpt
Well, yo seen, this mak o' wark went on fro week to week, till everybody geet weary on it; an' at last, th' chapel-wardens summon't a meetin' to see if they couldn't raise a bit o' daycent music, for Sundays, beawt o' this trouble. An' they talked back an' forrud about it a good while. Tum o'th Dingle recommended 'em to have a Jew's harp, an' some triangles. But Bobby Nooker said, 'That's no church music! Did onybody ever yer Th' Owd Hundred,
human
Well, well, said Nanny,
gpt
Well, I'll tell yo, Nanny, said Skedlock.
human
Th' owd clerk wur noan in when Robin geet to th' dur wi' his cart that neet, so his wife coom with a leet in her hond, an' said, 'Whatever hasto getten for us this time, Robert?' 'Why,' said Robin, 'it's some mak of a organ. Where win yo ha't put, Betty?' 'Eh, I'm fain thae's brought it,' said Betty. 'It's for th' chapel; an' it'll be wanted for Sunday. Sitho, set it deawn i' this front reawm here; an' mind what thae'rt doin' with it.' So Robin, an' Barfoot Sam, an' Little Wamble, 'at looks after th' horses at 'Th' Rompin' Kitlin,' geet it eawt o'th cart. When they geet how'd ont, Robin said, 'Neaw lads; afore yo starten: Mind what yo'r doin; an' be as ginger as yo con. That's a thing 'at's soon thrut eawt o' gear--it's a organ.' So they hove, an' poo'd, an' grunted, an' thrutch't, till they geet it set down i'th parlour; an' they pretended to be quite knocked up wi' th' job. 'Betty,' said Robin, wipin' his face wi' his sleeve, 'it's bin dry weather latly.' So th' owd lass took th' hint, an' fetched 'em a quart o' ale. While they stood i'th middle o'th floor suppin' their ale, Betty took th' candle an' went a-lookin' at this organ; and hoo couldn't tell whatever to make on it.... Did'n yo ever see a weshin'-machine, Nanny?
gpt
Never i' my life, said Nanny.
human
Nor aw dunnot want. Gi me a greight mug, an' some breawn swoap, an' plenty o' soft wayter; an' yo may tak yo'r machines for me.
gpt
Aw'll tell tho what, Skedlock, said Nanny;
human
Aye, hoo has, replied Skedlock;