Ya het foorneun, when we war oa’ gaily thrang at heàm, an oald
gentleman mak’ of a fellow com’ in tul ooar foald an’ said, whyte
nateral, ’at he wantit somebody to gà wid him on’t fells. We oa’
stopt an’ teuk a gud leuk at him afoor anybody spak; at last fadder
said, middlin’ sharp-like—(he ola’s speaks that way when we’re owte
sa thrang, does fadder)—“We’ve summat else to deu here nor to gà
rakin ower t’fells iv a fine day like this, wid nèabody kens whoa.”
T’gentleman was a queerish like oald chap, wid a sharp leuk oot, grey
hair and a smo’ feàce—drist i’ black, wid a white neckcloth like a
parson, an’ a par of specks on t’top of a gay lang nwose at wasn’t
set varra fair atween t’ e’en on him, sooa ’at when he leuk’t ebbem
at yan through his specks he rayder turn’t his feàce to t’ya side. He
leuk’t that way at fadder, gev a lal chèarful bit of a laugh an’ said,
iv his oan mak’ o’ toke, ’at he dudn’t want to hinder wark, but he wad
give anybody ’at ken’t t’fells weel, a matter o’ five shillin’ to gà
wid him, an’ carry two lāl bags. “’Howay wid tha, Joe,” sez fadder to
me, “it’s a croon mair nor iver thou was wūrth at heàm!” I meàd nèa
words aboot it, but gat me-sel’ a gud lūmp of a stick, an’ away we set,
t’oald lang nwos’t man an’ me, ebbem up t’ deàl.
As we war’ climmin’ t’fell breist, he geh me two empty bags to carry,
meàd o’ ledder. Thinks I to me-sel’, “I’s gān to eddle me five shillin’
middlin’ cannily.” I niver thowte he wad finnd owte on t’ fells to full
his lal bags wid, but I was misteàn!
He turn’t oot to be a far lisher oald chap nor a body wad ha’ thowte,
to leuk at his gray hair and his white hankecher an’ his specks. He
went lowpin owre wet spots an’ gūrt steàns, an’ scrafflin across craggs
an’ screes, tul yan wad ha’ sworn he was sūmmat a kin tul a Herdwick
tip.
Efter a while he begon leukin’ hard at oa’t steàns an’ craggs we com’
at, an’ than he teuk till breckan lūmps off them wid a queer lal
hammer he hed wid him, an’ stuffin t’ bits intil t’ bags ’at he geh me
to carry. He fairly cap’t me noo. I dudn’t ken what to mak o’ sec a
customer as t’is! At last I cudn’t help axin him what meàd him cum sèa
far up on t’fell to lait bits o’ steàns when he may’d finnd sèa many
doon i’t deàls? He laugh’t a gay bit, an’ than went on knappin’ away
wid his lal hammer, an’ said he was a jolly jist. Thinks I to me-sel’,
thou’s a jolly jackass, but it maks nèa matter to me if thou no’but
pays me t’ five shillin’ thou promish’t ma.
Varra weel, he keep’t on at this feckless wark tul gaily leàt at on i’t
efter-neun, an’ be that time o’ day he’d pang’t beàth o’t ledder pwokes
as full as they wad hod wid bits o’ steàn.
I’ve nit sèa offen hed a harder darrak efter t’ sheep, owther at
clippin time or soavin time, as I hed followin’ that oald grey heidit
chap an’ carryin’ his ledder bags. But hooiver, we gat back tul oor
house afoor neeght. Mūdder gev t’ oald jolly jist, as he co’t his-sel’,
some breid an’ milk, an’ efter he’d teàn that an’ toak’t a lal bit wid
fadder aboot sheep farming an’ sec like, he pait ma me five shillin’
like a man, an’ than tel’t ma he wad gi’ ma ūdder five shillin’ if I
wad bring his pwokes full o’ steàns doon to Skeàl-hill be nine o’clock
i’t mwornin’.
He set off to woak to Skeàl-hill just as it was growin’ dark; an’ neist
mwornin’, as seun as I’d gitten me poddish, I teuk t’ seàm rwoad wid
his ledder bags ower me shoolder, thinkin’ tul me-sel’ ’at yan may’d
mak a lal fortune oot o’ thūr jolly jists if a lock mair on them wad
no’but come oor way.
It was anūdder het mwornin’, an’ I hedn’t woak’t far till I begon to
think that I was as gūrt a feul as t’oald jolly jist to carry brocken
steàns o’ t’ way to Skeàl-hill, when I may’d finnd plenty iv any rwoad
side, clwose to t’ spot I was tackin’ them tul. Sooa I shack’t them oot
o’ t’ pwokes, an’ then stept on a gay bit leeter widout them.
When I com nār to Skeàl-hill, I fūnd oald Aberram Atchisson sittin on a
steul breckan steàns to mend rwoads wid, an’ I ax’t him if I med full
my ledder pwokes frae his heap. Aberram was varra kaim’ t’ an’ tell’t ma
to tak them ’at wasn’t brocken if I wantit steàns, sooa I tell’t him
hoo it was an’ oa’ aboot it. T’ oald maizlin was like to toytle of his
steul wid laughin’, an’ said me mūdder sud tak gud care on ma, for I
was ower sharp a chap to leeve varra lang i’ this warld; but I’d better
full my pwokes as I liked, an’ mak’ on wid them.
T’ jolly jist hed just gitten his breakfast when I gat to Skeàl-hill,
an’ they teuk ma intil t’ parlour tul him. He gūrned oa’t feàce ower
when I went in wid his bags, an’ tell’t me to set them doon in a neuk,
an’ than ax’t ma if I wad hev some breakfast. I said I’d gitten me
poddish, but I dudn’t mind; sooa he tell’t them to bring in some mair
coffee, an’ eggs, an’ ham, an’ twoastit breid an’ stuff, an’ I gat sec
a breakfast as I never seed i’ my time, while t’ oald gentleman was
gittin’ his-sel’ rūddy to gang off in a carriage ’at was waitin’ at t’
dooar for him.
When he com doon stairs he geh me t’udder five shillin’ an’ pait for my
breakfast an’ what he’d gitten his-sel’. Than he tell’t ma to put t’
ledder bags wid t’ steàns in them on beside t’ driver’s feet, an’ in he
gat, an’ laugh’t an’ noddit, an’ away he went.
I niver owder seed nor heard mair of t’ oald jolly jist, but I’ve offen
thowte ther mun be parlish few steàns i’ his country, when he was sooa
pleas’t at gittin’ two lāl ledder bags full for ten shillin’, an’ sec a
breakfast as that an’. It wad be a faymish job if fadder could sell o’
t’ steàns iv oor fell at five shillin’ a pwokeful—wadn’t it?