From a
distant part of the moor, the bray of a jackass came faint upon the
sleepy wind. "Yer tho', Jone," said one of the men, resting upon his
spade; "another cally-weighver gone!" " Ay," replied Jone, "th' owd
lad's deawn't his cut. He'll want no more tickets, yon mon!" The
country folk of Lancashire say that a weaver dies every time a
jackass brays. Jackson came up from the cutting, and we walked back
to where the greatest number of men were at work. "You should ha'
bin here last Saturday," said he; "we'd rather a curious scene. One
o' the men coom to me an' axed if I'd allow 'em hauve-an-hour to
howd a meetin' about havin' a procession i' th' guild week. I gav'
'em consent, on condition that they'd conduct their meetin' in an
orderly way. Well, they gethered together upo' that level theer; an'
th' speakers stood upo' th' edge o' that cuttin', close to Charnock
Fowd. Th' meetin' lasted abeawt a quarter ov an hour longer than I
bargained for; but they lost no time wi' what they had to do. O'
went off quietly; an' they finished with 'Rule Britannia,' i' full
chorus, an' then went back to their wark.
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