Page:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 2, 1891.djvu/465

Rh drives off others. Girl's head. "Eat ma quick." "Good food's worth meal-time." "Eat ma quick." "No haste—nigh gone." "Quick." "You're impatient." Last bit—all gone—got rid of girl. That's all.

Suppose all rubbish—but murderers may be chased by people they kill—think likely.

Theer's an au'd mun wi' us as 's heerd tell on a lad—Fred wor 's to name, an' 's fo'ak wor Baddeleys: leastwise, a think 's much; a'm not jist sartain. A tuk sarvice wi' a fa'armer, t'other side th' Wolds an' a coom to a main bad en, a did.

A dunno as 'ts 'reetly tre-ue, that's as mebbe, but a reckon they wor hell 'n' rough toimes tothan, and like enuff 't mout be true. Annyways, th' au'd mun tells 't so, an' says a heerd it fro' 's gran'ther or sich. Its nobbut a shart ta'ale. Wal', Fred wor a fond sort o' critter 'n' wor allus gittin' in a muss wi' summat 'r other, an' a wor, th' au'd chap says, th' ahfullest lad to e'at 's iver tha 'd see annywheers.

Bacon an' 'taters an' bre'ad—sides an' sacks 'n' bakin's of 'm—a'd swaller 'm da'own 's if a'd a battomless pit, as th' pa'asson says, 'stead o' a Chris'en stummick, loike other fo'ak; an' yit a wor a thin smahl slip o' a lad, as looked 's if a niver ate owt.

Wal', th' fa'armer seed un, as a wor stannin' wi' th' rest o' 'm to th' hirin's.

"Theer's a chap as 'll not cost much to kip!" says a; "a'll niver ate th' la'arder bare, not he—a's got no room fur a store o' vittles! Wheer gan', lad?"

"Wheer tha'll tak' ma," says Fred; fur th' fa'armers o' Cliff wa'ay 'd hev nowt to do wi' un, what wi' 's eatin', an' 's mussin' an 's fond wa'ays.

"A guess thou aren't wuth a wa'age," says th' fa'armer, wi' a eye to bettin' a bargain.

"A reckon a aren't much," says the lad, fur a wor used to bein' tellt that.