"You're not bakin' for yourselves, then ?" said he.

"Eh, naw," replied the young woman," it's mony a year sin' we had a bakin' o' fleawr, isn't it, Ruth ?" The old woman who was baking turned round and said, "Ay; an' it'll be mony another afore we han one aw deawt." There were three dirty-looking hens picking and croodling about the cottage floor.

"How is it you don't sell these, or else eat 'em ?" said he.

"Eh, dear," replied the old woman, "dun yo want mo kilt?
He's had thoose hens mony a year; an' they rooten abeawt th' heawse just th' same as greadley Christians.

He did gi' consent for one on 'em to be kilt yesterday; but aw'll be hanged iv th' owd cracky didn't cry like a chylt when he see'd it beawt yed.