anger an' bnstlin' loike a pricky-otchin. "Ahl kick tha while tha be black 's rotten to'nips, a will!"
"Nay!" cries th' missis. "Thou'll niver! a'll ate ahl ma bacon, ef tha do !"
But what wi' 's wife hangin' on 's arm, an blin' wi' rage, th' me'aster oop wi' th' axe in 's other han', an' stroock at Fred, an' off fell 's han' at th' wris'-bo'an.
Th' me'aster scratched 's he'ad, an' Fred howled.
"Wal', a didn't goo fur to do 't!" says th' fa'armer, a bit feared loike; "but ef thou tells fo'ak as a done 't, a'll ca'ahl th' polls an' gin 'ce oop fur thievin'; so theer!"
But, Lor' bless 'ee! Fred wor such'n a fool, a'd niver 'n idee as a cu'd a had oop th' me'aster fur 't, an' a tuk 't 'stead o' a bettin'; but a reckon a'd rather bin bet, a deal.
Wal', thou unnerstan' as 't worn't long afore Fred got 'n a muss age'an; an' this toime 't wor wi' stealin' money. A don't min' jist how a coom to fin' it, but annyways a did, an' a tuk 't, an' 't wor a hell o' a row—beggin' yer pa'ardon!—fur th' se'ame.
Th' me'aster wor jist cle'an out o' 's wits wi' fury: an' this toime a thrung sum mat as flatted Fred o' th' gra'ound, an' bruck 's arm an' 't had to be tuk off. A misremember that part o' th' ta'ale a bit, but that's what coom to 'm. An' so Fred los' 's arm; an' thou'd think a'd a gone awa'ay, wu'dn't 'ee? But a didn't, th' pore fool! A said:
"Ooh! a'd los' ma han' afuore, an' ma nail afuore that, an' a 's got kin' o' used to 't, seest tha; so a reckon a'll stay. 'T'ull hev to be ma he'ad nex' toime, an' that's none so alsy to pull off!"
But a wor wrong, thou'll see.
Th' fa'armer wor stra'ange an' misloiked i' th' countryside, an' 'd heerd sa'ay as some da'ay a'd git oop i' morn, an' fin' 's ricks brunt; an' a wor geyan' skeary o' 't. An' ivery noight wan o' th' ban's mun kep watch i' th' garth while th' dawnin'.
Wal', soon 's Fred wor a'out o' th' doctor's han's th'
