"Well, its a bonny come off," said th' chap, "when my own uncle connot
own me."

"Its nooan Ezra, is it?" said th' owd woman.

"That's my name, aw believe, aunt," he said.

"Waw, do come an' sit thi daan. Set that kettle on lad, and mak him a
drop o' summat warm; he'll do wi' it."

It worn't long afoor th' new comer wor sat i'th' front o'th' fire,
smookin' a long pipe an' weetin' his whistle ivery nah an then wi' a
drop o' whiskey an' watter.

"Nah lad," said th' owd man, "what news has ta browt? Tha's generally
summut new."

"Aw've nowt mich uts likely to be fresh, aw dooant think," said Ezra.
"Yo'd hear tell abaght that do o' Slinger's aw reckon?"

"Niver a word, lad; what's th' chuffin heead been doin?"

"Well, aw'd better start at th' beginnin' o' my tale, an' as it's
rayther a longish en, you mun draw up to th' fire and mak up yor mind to
harken a bit."

"Yo happen niver knew Molly Momooin? Shoo lived at Coldedge, an' used
to keep one o' them sooart o' spots known i' thease pairts as a whist
shop; yo'll know what that is? Shoo worn't a bad-like woman,
considerin' her age (for shoo wor aboon fifty, an' had been a widdy for