sed "Aw showed yo a photograph o' Mister Horne, papa, praps that's it?"

"That must be it," Sydney sed, jumpin at th' idea soa sharp, at in spite
o'th hawpny he had in his maath, he spoke quite nateral like; an though
th' owd feller couldn't believe 'at this nice gradely lukkin young man,
could be th' same as th' madman he'd travelled wi' th' neet befooar, th'
idea coom into his heead, an th' moor he lukked, th' moor certain he
grew.

"Can yo sing," he axed.

"Awm a varry poor singer," Sydney sed.

"Soa wor th' chap last neet," thowt owd Mothersdale, but Mabel put in,
"Oh! Papa he sings as beautifully as Sims Reeves."

"Then it couldn't ha been him," thowt her father, an then he axt:

"Do yo know a comic song at awm varry fond ov, abaat Buffalo Bill
scalpin Railway Directors in th' Wilds o' Kensington?"

Mabel laft, an Sydney tried to laff too, as he sed:--

"Aw nivver heeard ov it befooar, but if yor fond ov it, aw'll try an get
it an sing it for yo."

Th' owd man wor baan to ax some mooar questions when Sydney thinkin it
wor time to change th' subject, sed:--"Aw've come, Mr. Mothersdale, to
ax if yo've onny objections to"--he'd quite forgetten abaat his voice
ageean, an when he gate that far, Mabel's father begun o' beein quite