I'se never seen through this job, to my deein' day.' An' off
he ran, an' laft owd Pudge sit upo' th' organ, grinnin' at him....
That's a nice do, isn't it, Nanny?"
"Eh," said the old woman, "I never yerd sich a tale i' my life. But
thae's made part o' that out o' th' owd yed, Skedlock."
"Not a word," said he: "not a word. Yo han it as I had it, Nanny; as
near as I can tell."
"Well," replied she, "how did they go on at after that?"
"Well," said he, "I haven't time to stop to-neet, Nanny; I'll tell yo
some time else, I thought Jone would ha' bin here by now. He mun ha'
co'de at 'Th' Rompin' Kitlin'; but, I'll look in as I go by.'"
"I wish thou would, Skedlock. An' dunnot' go an' keep him, now; send
him forrud whoam."
"I will, Nanny--I dunnot want to stop, mysel'. Con yo lend me a
lantron?"
"Sure I can. Jenny, bring that lantron; an' leet it. It'll be two
hours afore th' moon rises. It's a fine neet, but it's dark."
When Jenny brought the lantern, I bade Nanny "Good night," and took
advantage of Owd Skedlock's convoy down the broken paths, to the high
road in the valley. There we parted; and I had a fine starlight walk to
"Th' Top o' th' Hoof," on that breezy October night.
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