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DICK MEETS HIS FATHER
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taking 'em off, and wi' my head hanging down, when she just brushed on by the garden hatch like a flittering leaf. "Ann," I said, says I, and then,—but, Dick, I be afeared 'twill be no help to thee; for we were such a rum couple, your mother and I, leastways one half was, that is myself—and your mother's charms was more in the manner than the material.'

'Never mind! "Ann," said you.'

'"Ann," said I, as I was saying . . . "Ann," I said to her when I was oiling my working-day boots wi' my head hanging down, "Woot hae me?" . . . . What came next I can't quite call up at this distance o' time. Perhaps your mother would know—she's a better memory for her little triumphs than I. However, the long and the short o' the story is that we were married somehow, as I found afterwards. 'Twas on White Tuesday,—Mellstock Club walked

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