"Yo're good enough for the likes o' them," said my mother, "an' aw'm none goin' to have 'em sittin' on th' best furniture i' th' house longer nor aw can help. They'll noan do it ony good. Let's in, an' ha' it ovver, an' dunnot pick yo'r words, either, wi' that lot: aw shannot, yo' may depend." You never did see in your life such a beau as Ben Walker that day. His mother was fine dressed, with a big gold brooch and a gold chain round her neck and reaching like a rope down to her waist, and all the colours of the rainbow in the silks she wore. But Ben! you should have seen him! It was a sight for sore eyes. They called his father "Buck," but him I never saw in the days of his glory. But if he could out-buck Ben he was a Buck indeed. Why, his vest was a flower garden in miniature, and if he'd dipped his head in the treacle pot it couldn't have been stickier. Somebody must have crammed him that the tailor makes the man: but Lord! a tailor from heaven, if there are such there, couldn't have made a man of Ben Walker. Neither could ale nor strong waters. He had evidently been trying for a bit back to import courage from Holland, for his face was patchy and mezzled and his eye was filmy and his body jerky. We had heard that he was making the money fly down at th' Brigg, tho' it was not easy to get anyone to drink with him. However, here he was, and it was not difficult to guess his errand. My mother eyed the pair of them with a look of fine disdain and offered them neither a hand nor a chair. "Well, what's your business here," she said, "onybody 'at knew owt 'ud know this is none a time for visitin', th' hay out an' th' glass goin' down wi' a run, 'at awst be' capped if it doesn't knock th' bottom out, one o' these days." "Aye, the weather's very tryin' indeed for th' poor farmers," said Mrs. Walker, "an' for them 'at has to depend for their livins on a few pounds worth o' hay. But yo' see gentlefolk needn't bother their yeds abaat sich things. Wet or fine doesn't matter so much to them. When it's too wet for walkin' they can ride." "Aye," put in my mother, "we all know weel enough where a beggar rides to, if yo' put him on horse-back. But what's yo'r business, aw say?" "Can't yo' speik, Ben?" said Mrs. Walker, "what's ta stand theer for, like a moonstruck cauf?" "Aw wud like to speak wi' Mary here," said Ben. "Well, it's a free country," said Mary, "an' there's no law agen speakin'." "By thissen, aw mean." "Well, tha cannot, that's all. If tha's owt to say to me, tha mun say it afore Ben Bamforth." "Ben Bamforth, indeed!" said Mrs. Walker. "Mind yo'r manners, lass, or it'll be worse for yo', an' speik more respectful when yo' speik to yo'r betters. Does ta know tha'rt speikin' to two thousand pund?" "Aw sud say t' same if aw wer' speikin' to th' king's mint, if Ben Walker wer' one o' th' stamps," retorted Mary hotly.