'Hearken till her,' said Daniel, chuckling. 'She's a true wench.
Three days sin' noane so full as she o' t' new cloak that now she's
fain t' sell.'

'Ay, Harry. If feyther won't pay yo' for making all these old
clothes as good as new, I'll sell my new red cloak sooner than yo'
shall go unpaid.'

'A reckon it's a bargain,' said Harry, casting sharp, professional
eyes on the heap before him, and singling out the best article as to
texture for examination and comment.

'They're all again these metal buttons,' said he. 'Silk weavers has
been petitioning Ministers t' make a law to favour silk buttons; and
I did hear tell as there were informers goin' about spyin' after
metal buttons, and as how they could haul yo' before a justice for
wearing on 'em.'

'A were wed in 'em, and a'll wear 'em to my dyin' day, or a'll wear
noane at a'. They're for making such a pack o' laws, they'll be for
meddling wi' my fashion o' sleeping next, and taxing me for ivery
snore a give. They've been after t' winders, and after t' vittle,
and after t' very saut to 't; it's dearer by hauf an' more nor it
were when a were a boy: they're a meddlesome set o' folks,
law-makers is, an' a'll niver believe King George has ought t' do
wi' 't. But mark my words; I were wed wi' brass buttons, and brass
buttons a'll wear to my death, an' if they moither me about it, a'll
wear brass buttons i' my coffin!'