It sets me thinkin', sometimes, when aw tak a rammel abaat th' hills an'
valleys o' mi own neighborhood, what i' th' name o' fortun' maks ivvery
body lang to get as far away throo hooam as they can to enjoy thersens.
Change o' air may be gooid nah an' then; but as aw've travelled a bit
misen, an' visited all them spots 'at they favour mooast, an' seen ha
fowk conduct thersens 'at goa for th' benefit o' ther health, it strikes
me 'at change o' air is a varry poor excuse, for it's just a spree 'at
they goa for, an' nowt else, nine times aght o' ten.

Last June, aw had two or three days to call mi own (an', by gow! if yo
nivver worked in a miln, yo dooant knaw what a blessing that is), an' aw
tuk a walk as far as Pellon, an' then dahn throo Birks Hall an' ovver
th' Shrogs to Ovenden, then throo Illingworth to Keighley, an' on as far
as Steeton. (Ony body 'at thinks that isn't fur enuff for one day can
try it thersen, an' see ha they like it.)

When aw gets to th' Gooat's Heead, aw wor fain to sit daan an' rest a
bit. A pint o' ale ran daan mi throit just like teemin it daan a sink
pipe, an' when aw set daan to th' cold roast beef an' pickled cabbage;
well, yo' may think aw did it justice, but aw didn't, for that mait had
nivver done me ony harm, an' th' way aw punished it was disgraceful,
tho' I say it misen; an' when th' landlady coom in to tak away th' bit
ther wor left (an' it worn't mich), aw saw her luk raand to mak sure 'at
ther wor nobbut one 'at had been pickin' off that. Aw felt soa shamed
'at aw wor ivver so long befor' aw dar ax her ha much aw owed, an' when
shoo said eightpence, aw blushed like a pyannet, and paid it, but aw
knew varry weel 'at aw wor a shillin' i' debt then if ivverybody had
ther own. Hasumivver shoo were satisfied; in fact, shoos allus
satisfied, shoo'd nivver ha' been as big as shoo is if shoo let little
things bother her (an shoo has lots o' bonny little things running
abaat). Well, aw went to bed, an' slept till mornin'. Aw can't say
whether all were quiet or not, for nowt could ha' disturbed me, aw
believe aw should ha' slept saandly if ther'd been Sowerby Brig Local
Booard o' one side, an' th' Stainland School Booard o' t'other, an' th'
Haley Hill bell ringers playin' "Hail, smilin' morn." at th' bed feet.
But all this has nowt to do wi what aw intended tell in' yo abaat.

Next mornin aw gate up, an' after braikfast (sich a braikfast! aw nivver
felt soa stuck up i' all mi life as aw felt after gettin' that
braikfast, aw couldn't even bend to see if mi shoes were blackened) aw
set aght agean, an' went as far as Silsden. Nah, for th' information o'
fowk at wor nivver thear, aw may as weel tell yo a thing or two. Silsden
wor nivver planned, it grew, just like th' brackens i' th' woods,
throwin' aght a branch one way or another, as it thowt fit. Thers one or
two fact'rys, a nail shop or two, two or three brigs, some nice chapels,
an' th' rummest owd pile for a church' at yo'll meet in a day's march; a
lot o' nice, clean cottages, tenanted wi strong men an' hearty lukkin
women, wi hearts i' ther breasts as big as bullocks, an' as monny
childer raand th' doors as if they wor all infant schooils; an' a varry
fair sprinklin' o' public haases.

Nah monny a one would wonder ha soa monny fowks could live an' thrive i'
sich a place--aw wonder misen; an' some wod wonder whear all th' fowk
coom throo to fill ther chapels an' church: but aw doant wonder at that,
for wheriver there's a lot o' wimmen an' lasses 'at can spooart nice
Sunday clooas there's sure to be a lot 'at'll goa to places o' worship
to show' em; an' whear th' lasses, are, there will th' lads be also. (Aw
believe that's a quotation, but awm net sure.) An' th' publics--they
tell me they niver wod ha' been able to get on at all if it hadn't been
for th' Sunday closin', but as sooin as fowk see th' doors shut they
begin to feel dry, an' as th' constable is a chap' at wodn't lower his
dignity bi goin' to see if fowks back doors wor oppen, things wark
pratty weel. It wor at th' Red Lion aw thawt aw'd stop this time (that's
whear iverybody stops 'at knows what gooid grub is; an' it's worth
sixpence any time to see Tommy's face when he's mad, an' a shillin to
see his wife's an' hear her laff when shoo's suited). It wor here 'at
this tale wor tell'd to me--its's rayther sorrowful, but then it may
happen to be relished bi some 'at read it.

Sally Bray worn't a beauty, but shoo wor what yo'd call a nice lass. Her
hair an' een wor black as sloes, an' her cheeks wor ommost as red as her
lips, an' they wor like cherries; her teeth wor as white as a china cup,
but her noas worn't mich to crack on. Shoo wor rayther short an' dumpy,
but ther wor allus sich a pleasant smile abaat her face, an' shoo wor
soa gooid tempered at ivvery body liked her an' had a kind word for "awr
Sal," as they called her. Nah Sally worn't like other lasses in one
respect, shoo nivver tawked abaat having a felly, an' if others sed owt
abaat sweethearts an' trolled her for net havin' one, shoo'd luk at 'em
wi her een blazin' like two fireballs, but nivver a word could they get
her to say. Shoo had noa father or mother, nor any relation i' th'
world, unless it wor a brother, an' shoo didn't know whether he wor
livin' or net, for he'd run away to sea when a little lad, an' shoo'd
nivver heeard on him agean; but it wor noaticed 'at when once a sailor
happened to call at th' Lion one day, 'at shoo showed him moor favor nor
shoo'd showed any body else, an' even sat beside him for an haar, to
hear him tell abaat ships an' storms. Well, he wor th' only one shoo
ivver had showed any fancy for, an' he wor th' last, for little moor nor
a year after that Sally had gooan.