"Aw'm a weiver, to be sewer. Aw'n gotten th' same loom as mi owd father had, an' it's noan a foul loom yet, but it's been weel done to. Yo' see, there's a deal o' human natur' i' a loom, an'--" "Quite so, quite so. And you are a worshipper at Pole Moor Chapel?" "Aye, to be sewer aw am. Aw were dipped when aw were nobbut seventeen year owd, but with th' conviction o' sin full on me. Mi feyther, owd Sammy, yo'll mind me tellin' on him, were one o' th' founders o' Pole Moor, an' so when aw come to years o' discretion--" "Exactly, and you know the last witness?" "Know him? Why, in course aw do. Aw've dandled him o' mi knee an' spanked him mony's the time. Aw mind his mother, poor saint. Oo's dead now, but aw can tell on _her_, too, if yo're for speerin'." "No, no, Mr. Hoyle I'm certainly not for speering about the late Mrs. Holmes, a most worthy woman, no doubt." "Yo' may say that, an' n'er go back on it. Aw'n heerd say 'at 'tornies nivver speak th' truth excep' bi accident, but that's Gospel truth, choose how. Aw mind when Mister Holmes browt her to th' Powl, a slip o' a lass, in a way o' speikin', an' noan cut out for yar rough ways--a dainty bloom, yo' may say, an' sooin frost-bitten. Oo deed, poor soul, when Ruth were a babby." "Yes, yes, but I want to ask you--I think you keep Belgium hares in addition to your weaving?" "Aye, that's what aw'n come here to speik about, only tha'rt so long i' gettin' to th' root o' the matter, like some o' th' long-winded parsons it pleases the Lord to afflict us wi' at th' Powl, when Mr. Holmes exchanges pulpits wi' a brother minister, a practice aw cannot say aw entirely howd wi', though some fowk reckon a change o' spiritual diet be gooid for th' soul. But aw say if watter-porridge sits weel o' yo'r stomach, stick to watter-porridge an' no fal-lals. An' it's same wi' religion an' preachers." "But what about those hares, Mr. Hoyle?" "Well, aw were tellin' yo', weren't aw, but yo" won't let me get a word in edgeways, which aw rekkon talkin' 's yo' trade, other bi th' piece or th' hour. Yo' see it were this way. When my poor owd missus deed--it were th' brownchitis took her i' th' finish--'Affliction's sore long time she bore, physicians were i' vain,' as yo' may see for yo'r sen on her gravestone--" "Oh, dear; oh, dear," ejaculated Mr. Alison; "shall we never get to the hares?" "Better let him have his head, Mr. Blackburn," suggested the Chairman, "else we shall be here till midnight." "Yo' see, it were i' this way," continued the imperturbable Enoch, "as aw wer' sayin', when th' owd gentleman put his oar in. Aw knew thi feyther, sir," turning to the Bench, and beaming benevolently on the Chairman "an' a proper man he were, an' aw hopes yo' tak' after him. Aw mind me, when he wer' at th bull-baitin' at Bullroyd, up Long'ud way--yo'll know th' spot--but he took to cock-feightin' 'i his owd age--"