Yallery Brown an' know'd 's evil tricks—an' did it come treue, sayst tha? Ma wo'd! but it did, sure's de'ath! A ha' wo'ked here an' theer, an' to'ned ma han' to this 'n that, but it allus want agee, an' tis ahl Yallery Brown's doin'. The childer died, an' my wife didn't—thou knows what she be, thou can hear her tongue a mile off; 'n a cud ha spa'ared her—tha beasts niver fatted, an' nuthin' ever did well wi'ma; a'm geyan au'd noo, an' a'll must en' ma da'ays in th' Hoose, a reckon, but till a'm de'ad an' buried, an' mappen even arter'ds, theer'll be no'on en' to Yallery Brown's spite at ma; an' da'ay in an' da'ay oot a hear un sa'ayin' whiles a sit here trem'lin'—
"Wo'k as thou wull
Thou'll niver do well;
Wo'k as thou mowt
Thou'll niver gain owt;
Fur harm an' mischance an' Yallery Brown
Thou's let oot thy-sel' fro' unner th' sto'an."
"The Dead Hand."
Ay, the Cars wor a fearsome pla'ace i' they da'ays if all ta'ales be true. 'Twor afore my toime; but I hev heerd mony a stra'ange thing aboot un as 'd make thy skin creep to harken to. A can't sa'ay if they be all true; but a wudn't loike to sa'ay 'at they be'nt. A reckon theer wor quare things to than, an' mappen, fur all a knows, jest 's quare aboot 's to year; ony w'er growed too gran' to seen un. Anyways—a wudn't loike to do 's Long Tom Pattison did, 'case a mout come to th' sa'ame en'. Niver heerd on un? ooh, a'l can thee 'bout that, an' a reckon that's a true ta'ale hawiver.
He wor a wild slip of a lad, alius in mischeef, nobody 'd an evil wo'd agin un; fur wi' all 's tricks, a wor a decent lad, on'y too full o' 's fun, an' too waggle-headed to min' what a wor doin' most toimes. Well, to than, as a said afore, theer wor he'aps o' ta'ales aboot, of boggarts 'n horrors 'n sich, a cayn't tell thee reetly what all; fo'ak wor geyan
