"Gi' us th' tale owt an' owt, owd lad. Tha'rt th' one to do it graidely."
Sammy applied a lucifer to the fragrant weed, and sucked at his pipe deliberately.
"It's noan so much of a tale," he said, with an air of disparagement and indifference. "Yo' chaps mak' so much out o' nowt. Th' parson's well enow i' his way, but," in naive self-satisfaction, "I mun say he's a foo', an th' biggest foo' fur his size I ivver had th' pleasure o' seein'."
They knew the right chord was touched. A laugh went round, but there was no other interruption and Sammy proceeded.
"Whatten yo' lads think as th' first thing he says to me wur?" puffing vigorously. "Why, he cooms in an' sets hissen down, an' he swells hissen out loike a frog i' trouble, an' ses he, 'My friend, I hope you cling to th' rock o' ages.' An' ses I, 'No I dunnot nowt o' th' soart, an' be dom'd to yo'.' It wur na hospitible," with a momentary touch of deprecation,—"An' I dunnot say as it wur hospitible, but I wur na i' th' mood to be hospitible just at th' toime. It tuk him back too, but he gettin round after a bit, an' he tacklet me agen, an' we had it back'ard and for'ard betwixt us for a good haaf hour. He said it wur Providence, an' I said, happen it wur, an' happen it wurn't. I wur na so friendly and familiar wi' th' Lord as he seemed to be, so I could na tell foak aw he meant, and aw he did na mean. Sithee here, lads," making a fist of his knotty old hand and laying it upon the table, "that theer's what stirs me up wi' th' parson kind. They're allus settin down to explain what th' Lord-amoigty's up to as, if he wur a confidential friend o' theirs as they wur bound to back up i' some road; an' they mun drag
