And him zat on a style, long zide the tharn bush, and 'a took 'ee's gun, and 'a zays, 'A'll shute vust man are maid as cumes acrust thiccy vield,' 'a zays.

And us knowed 'un wude du 't tu.

And 'un barred the gate, and there t'was." He laughed till the tears ran down his face, brown as gingerbread, and wrinkled as a monkey's.
"Mr.Crewys is in a hurry, Jack," said Sarah.

"He's only just arrived from London, and he's walked all the way from Brawnton." "'Tain't but a stip vur a vine vellar like 'ee, and wi' a vine maiden like yu du be grown, var tu kip 'ee company," said Happy Jack.

"But 'ee'll be in a yurry tu git tu Barracombe, and refresh hisself, in arl this turble yeat.