"Is somdy hurt?" Sarah ax'd. "It's Martin," shoo sed, "he wor gooin daan to Shibden this afternooin, to visit one ov his Sundy skollards 'ats badly; an' he happened bi ill luck to coom on a reg'lar lot o' idle young fellers at wor laikin at pitch an' toss. Martin connot bide wickedness o' noa sooart, soa he stopt to tell 'em hah sinful gamblin' wor, 'specially on a Sundy, an' hah mich better for 'em it 'ud be, if they'd put ther hard-addled brass into th' Savins Bank, but asteead o' takkin his gooid advice, they set on him an' beat him black an blue, an' robbed him o' three bob 'at he had in his pockit, 'at had been subscribed for th' missionarys at th' Sundy skooil." "Is he mich war?" aw axed. "His Sundy coit's all tore to ribbons, an his ankles sprained; one o' his front teeth is knocked clean aght, an' his watch is gooan. Aw shall be only too thankful if he gets to his wark in a fortneet." "Hev yo' telled th' perleece?" Sarah sed. "Noa," shoo sed, "it wodn't be noa sooart o' use tellin' them chaps, they're too lazy to do owt nobbut draw ther wage,--besides, Martin's that forgivin', 'at he says he'd rayther suffer i' silence nor let onnybody be punished on his accant--but aw mun be off." An' shoo went aght wi' th' bottle. "Ther's a deal o' humbug i' this world," Sarah sed, when th' woman wor gooan, "awm glad he's getten catched at last, aw mak nowt o' sich decaitful fowk, robbin' poor people o' ther brass,--it's little enuff 'at we can finger honestly nah a days. Aw've been wantin a new bonnet monny a week--Missis Lupton's getten one, an' shoo's getten a faal face to put inside ov it two, an aw dooant like to be bet bi a woman like that,--soa if yo' can get that five bob thro' Uriah, it'll come in handy. Aw've sed times an times agean, 'at them Lodges wor th' nearest fowk i' all Maant Pleasant, an' fowk owt to pay ther debts, whether it's bettin or whether it isn't." "Aw'll see him to morn." "That's reight, lad, do, an' let's goa to bed nah, for we shall have a rare gas nooat this quarter if we sit up like this." Th' Next Mornin'. Aw'll nivver get druffen noa mooar, It's th' last time is this, an that's trew,-- For mi booans is all shakkin an sooar, Throo th' craan o' mi hat, to mi shoe. An mi skin, it's all cover'd wi' marks, Some's blue, an some's black, an some's red; Yo connot think ha mi heead warks, An it feels just as heavy as lead. Aw connot tell ha' aw gate fresh, For aw didn't sup ovver mich drink,-- It's mi stummack 'at's weakly, aw guess, It couldn't be nowt else aw' think, For aw'd nobbut a gallon o' beer, A couple o' whiskeys,--a rum,-- Happen two--for awm net varry clear Hah monny--aw knaw aw hed some.