whiles th' onnat'ral thing wor maddlin' wi' th' others, 'n wo'kin' fur me'a.
To last, things got so bad that th' measter gi'n ma tha sack, 'n ef he hadn't, a do b'leeve as ahl th' rest o' th' lads 'd a sacked him, fur tha swore as tha'd not sta'ay on sa'ame garth wi' mea. Well, nat'rally a felt bad; 'twor a main good pla'ace, an' good pa'ay too; an' a wor fair mad wi' Yallery Brown, as 'd got ma into sich 'n a trooble. So afore a knowt a shuk ma fist i' th' air an' called oot 's lood 's a cud, "Yallery Brown, coom fra tha mools; thou scamp, a want tha!"
Thou'll sca'arce b'leeve it, but a 'd 'ardly brung oot th' wo'ds as a felt suthin' tweakin' ma leg behin', while a joomped wi' th' smart o' 't; and soon 's a looked doon, theer wor th' tiddy thing, wi' 's shinin' hair, 'n wrinkled fa'ace, an' wicked glintin' black eyne.
A wor in a fine rage, an' 'd loiked to ha' kicked un, but 'twor no'on good, there worn't enuff on un to git ma boot agin'; but a said to-wanst, "Look here, measter, ahl thank thee to leave ma alo'an arter this, dost hear? a want none o thy he'p, an' a'll hev nowt more to do with ee—see now."
Th' horrid thing brak oot wi' a screechin' laugh, an' p'inted 's brown finger at ma. "Ho, ho, Tom!" says a. "Thoust tha'anked me, ma lad, an' atowld thee not, atowld thee not!"
"A don't want thy he'p, a tell thee," a yelled at un—"a ony want niver to see thee agean, an' to ha' nowt more to do with 'ee—thou can go—" but a won't tell 'ee ahl a said, fur a wor fair ma'ad.
Tha thing on'y laught' 'n screeched 'n mocked, 's long 's a went on sweerin', but so soon 's ma bre'ath gi'n oot,—
"Tom, ma lad," he said wi' a grin, "a'll tell'ee summat, Tom. True 's tre-ue a'll niver he'p thee ag'ean, an' call 's thou will, thou'll niver see ma arter to-da'ay; but a niver said 's a 'd leave thee alo'an, Tom, an' a niver wull, ma lad! A wor nice an' sa'afe unner th' stoun, Tom, an' cud do no ha'arm; but thou let ma oot thy-sel', an' thou can't put ma
