Old Bessy, who lived in an old house near Kildale, was very near the borderland. The clergyman found her quite happy and reconciled, and on leaving her (he was going away for some time), said, ‘Well, goodbye, Bessy; I may never see you on earth again, but I shall hope to meet you in heaven.’ ‘Aye, an’ Ah s’ leeak oot for ya cuming; an’ deean’t forgit ’at neean on uz is nowt na different up yonder, so you maun’t git yer back up if Ah just shak ya byv t’ han’, an’ saay, famil’ar leyke, ’at Ah’s glad ti see ’at ya’ve mannished it.’
The rest of this chapter is merely a collection of Yorkshire stories, which I think should not be lost, and which I leave to the perspicuity of my readers, who doubtless, without any hints from me, will grasp the many different phases of character contained therein.
The tire had come off the cart wheel, and the Tyke was in a bit of a fix; shortly afterwards a cyclist drew up, and dismounting, remarked, ‘Punctchard. Can I lend you my pump?’ and then burst out laughing at the man’s dilemma and his own wit. ‘Punctchard? neea, Ah isn’t punctchard,’ retorted the Tyke, in fairly good imitation of the would-be wit. ‘An’ thoo can stick ti thi pump; bud Ah deean’t knaw what thoo wants it fer, fer thoo’d be all t’ better if thoo war punctchard thisen a larl bit; it ’ud let sum o’ thi gas oot, foor thoo’s ommaist brussen wi’ ‘t.’ And then he set to work to replace the tyre, as though no cyclist had appeared upon the scene.
Several rustics were admiring two brand-new machines, whilst the owners (a lady and gentleman) regaled themselves in the village pub. When about to start on their journey again, the young fellow, taking stock of the group, and, as he thought, seeing good material for a joke, said, ‘Admiring our machines?’ and then, nudging his fair companion, continued, ‘These are the very latest; they can either be used as cycles, musical boxes, or garden mowers. I only have to turn a screw, that’s all. Clever, aren’t they?’ ‘Aye!’ said one of the group, looking as if he had swallowed every word just uttered. ‘It’s wunnerful what they’ve gitten ’em ti deea noo; my weyfe’s gitten yan ’at gans wiv a can an’ milks t’ coos all byv itsen.’ Then those two proceeded on their journey.