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Varra weel, he keep’t on at this feckless wark tul gaily leàt at on i’t efter-neun, an’ be that time o’ day he’d pang’t beàth o’t ledder pwokes as full as they wad hod wid bits o’ steàn.

I’ve nit sèa offen hed a harder darrak efter t’ sheep, owther at clippin time or soavin time, as I hed followin’ that oald grey heidit chap an’ carryin’ his ledder bags. But hooiver, we gat back tul oor house afoor neeght. Mūdder gev t’ oald jolly jist, as he co’t his-sel’, some breid an’ milk, an’ efter he’d teàn that an’ toak’t a lal bit wid fadder aboot sheep farming an’ sec like, he pait ma me five shillin’ like a man, an’ than tel’t ma he wad gi’ ma ūdder five shillin’ if I wad bring his pwokes full o’ steàns doon to Skeàl-hill be nine o’clock i’t mwornin’.

He set off to woak to Skeàl-hill just as it was growin’ dark; an’ neist mwornin’, as seun as I’d gitten me poddish, I teuk t’ seàm rwoad wid his ledder bags ower me shoolder, thinkin’ tul me-sel’ ’at yan may’d mak a lal fortune oot o’ thūr jolly jists if a lock mair on them wad no’but come oor way.