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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15986.txt b/15986.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..022b6ab --- /dev/null +++ b/15986.txt @@ -0,0 +1,973 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Th' Barrel Organ, by Edwin Waugh + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Th' Barrel Organ + + +Author: Edwin Waugh + +Release Date: June 4, 2005 [eBook #15986] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TH' BARREL ORGAN*** + + +E-text prepared by Todd Augsburger <todd@rollerorgans.com> + + + +TH' BARREL ORGAN + +by + +EDWIN WAUGH + +Manchester: +John Heywood, 143 Deansgate. +London: Simkin, Marshall & Co. + + + + + + + +I came out at Haslingden town-end with my old acquaintance, "Rondle +o'th Nab," better known by the name of "Sceawter," a moor-end farmer and +cattle dealer. He was telling me a story about a cat that squinted, and +grew very fat because--to use his own words--it "catched two mice at one +go." When he had finished the tale, he stopped suddenly in the middle of +the road, and looking round at the hills, he said, "Nea then. I'se be +like to lev yo here. I mun turn off to 'Dick o' Rough-cap's' up Musbury +Road. I want to bargain about yon heifer. He's a very fair chap, is +Dick,--for a cow-jobber. But yo met as weel go up wi' me, an' then go +forrud to our house. We'n some singers comin' to neet." + +"Nay," said I, "I think I'll tak up through Horncliffe, an' by th' +moor-gate, to't 'Top o'th Hoof.'" + +"Well, then," replied he, "yo mun strike off at th' lift hond, about a +mile fur on; an' then up th' hill side, an' through th' delph. Fro theer +yo mun get upo' th' owd road as weel as yo con; an' when yo'n getten it, +keep it. So good day, an' tak care o' yorsel'. Barfoot folk should never +walk upo' prickles." He then turned, and walked off. Before he had gone +twenty yards he shouted back, "Hey! I say! Dunnot forget th' cat." + +It was a fine autumn day; clear and cool. Dead leaves were whirling +about the road-side. I toiled slowly up the hill, to the famous +Horncliffe Quarries, where the sounds of picks, chisels, and gavelocks, +used by the workmen, rose strangely clear amidst the surrounding +stillness. From the quarries I got up by an old pack horse road, to a +commanding elevation at the top of the moors. Here I sat down on a rude +block of mossy stone, upon a bleak point of the hills, overlooking one +of the most picturesque parts of the Irwell valley. The country around +me was part of the wild tract still known by its ancient name of the +Forest of Rossendale. Lodges of water and beautiful reaches of the +winding river gleamed in the evening sun, among green holms and patches +of woodland, far down the vale; and mills, mansions, farmsteads, +churches, and busy hamlets succeeded each other as far as the eye could +see. The moorland tops and slopes were all purpled with fading heather, +save here and there where a well-defined tract of green showed that +cultivation had worked up a little plot of the wilderness into pasture +land. About eight miles south, a gray cloud hung over the town of Bury, +and nearer, a flying trail of white steam marked the rush of a railway +train along the valley. From a lofty perch of the hills, on the +north-west, the sounds of Haslingden church bells came sweetly upon the +ear, swayed to and fro by the unsettled wind, now soft and low, borne +away by the breeze, now full and clear, sweeping by me in a great gush +of melody, and dying out upon the moorland wilds behind. Up from the +valley came drowsy sounds that tell the wane of day, and please the ear +of evening as she draws her curtains over the world. A woman's voice +floated up from the pastures of an old farm-house, below where I sat, +calling the cattle home. The barking of dogs sounded clear in different +parts of the vale, and about scattered hamlets, on the hill sides. I +could hear the far-off prattle of a company of girls, mingled with the +lazy joltings of a cart, the occasional crack of a whip, and the surly +call of a driver to his horses, upon the high road, half a mile below +me. From a wooded slope, on the opposite side of the valley, the crack +of a gun came, waking the echoes for a minute; and then all seemed to +sink into a deeper stillness than before, and the dreamy surge of sound +broke softer and softer upon the shores of evening, as daylight sobered +down. High above the green valley, on both sides, the moorlands +stretched away in billowy wildernesses--dark, bleak, and almost +soundless, save where the wind harped his wild anthem upon the heathery +waste, and where roaring streams filled the lonely cloughs with drowsy +uproar. It was a striking scene, and it was an impressive hour. The +bold, round, flat-topped height of Musbury Tor stood gloomily proud, on +the opposite side, girdled off from the rest of the hills by a green +vale. The lofty outlines of Aviside and Holcombe were glowing with the +gorgeous hues of a cloudless October sunset. Along those wild ridges the +soldiers of ancient Rome marched from Manchester to Preston, when boars +and wolves ranged the woods and thickets of the Irwell valley. The +stream is now lined all the way with busy populations, and evidences of +great wealth and enterprise. But the spot from which I looked down upon +it was still naturally wild. The hand of man had left no mark there, +except the grass-grown pack-horse road. There was no sound nor sign of +life immediately around me. + +The wind was cold, and daylight was dying down. It was getting too +near dark to go by the moor tops, so I made off towards a cottage in the +next clough, where an old quarry-man lived, called "Jone o'Twilter's." +The pack-horse road led by the place. Once there, I knew that I could +spend a pleasant hour with the old folk, and, after that, be directed by +a short cut down to the great highway in the valley, from whence an +hour's walk would bring me near home. I found the place easily, for I +had been there in summer. It was a substantial stone-built cottage, or +little farm-house, with mullioned windows. A stone-seated porch, +white-washed inside, shaded the entrance; and there was a little barn +and a shippon, or cow-house attached. By the by, that word "shippon," +must have been originally "sheep-pen." The house nestled deep in the +clough, upon a shelf of green land, near the moorland stream. On a rude +ornamental stone, above the threshold of the porch, the date of the +building was quaintly carved, "1696," with the initials, "J. S.," and +then, a little lower down, and partly between these, the letter "P.," as +if intended for "John and Sarah Pilkington." On the lower slope of the +hill, immediately in front of the house there was a kind of kitchen +garden, well stocked, and in very fair order. Above the garden, the wild +moorland rose steeply up, marked with wandering sheep tracts. From the +back of the house, a little flower garden sloped away to the edge of a +rocky back. The moorland stream rushed wildly along its narrow channel, +a few yards below; and, viewed from the garden wall, at the edge of the +bank, it was a weird bit of stream scenery. The water rushed and roared +here; there it played a thousand pranks; and there, again, it was full +of graceful eddies; gliding away at last over the smooth lip of a worn +rock, a few yards lower down. A kind of green gloom pervaded the watery +chasm, caused by the thick shade of trees overspreading from the +opposite bank. It was a spot that a painter might have chosen for "The +Kelpie's Home." + +The cottage door was open; and I guessed by the silence inside that +old "Jone" had not reached home. His wife, Nanny, was a hale and +cheerful woman, with a fastidious love of cleanliness, and order, and +quietness, too, for she was more than seventy years of age. I found her +knitting, and slowly swaying her portly form to and fro in a shiny +old-fashioned chair, by the fireside. The carved oak clock-case in the +corner was as bright as a mirror; and the solemn, authoritative ticking +of the ancient time-marker was the loudest sound in the house. But the +softened roar of the stream outside filled all the place, steeping the +senses in a drowsy spell. At the end of a long table under the front +window, sat Nanny's granddaughter, a rosy, round-faced lass, about +twelve years old. She was turning over the pictures in a well-thumbed +copy of "Culpepper's Herbal." She smiled, and shut the book, but seemed +unable to speak; as if the poppied enchantment that wrapt the spot had +subdued her young spirit to a silence which she could not break. I do +not wonder that old superstitions linger in such nooks as that. Life +there is like bathing in dreams. But I saw that they had heard me +coming; and when I stopt in the doorway, the old woman broke the charm +by saying, "Nay sure! What; han yo getten thus far? Come in, pray yo." + +"Well, Nanny," said I; "where's th' owd chap?" + +"Eh," replied the old woman; "it's noan time for him yet. But I see," +continued she, looking up at the clock, "it's gettin' further on than I +thought. He'll be here in abeawt three-quarters of an hour--that is, if +he doesn't co', an' I hope he'll not, to neet. I'll put th' kettle on. +Jenny, my lass, bring him a tot o' ale." + +I sat down by the side of a small round table, with a thick plane-tree +top, scoured as white as a clean shirt; and Jenny brought me an +old-fashioned blue-and-white mug, full of homebrewed. + +"Toast a bit o' hard brade," said Nanny, "an' put it into't." + +I did so. + +The old woman put the kettle on, and scaled the fire; and then, +settling herself in her chair again, she began to re-arrange her +knitting-needles. Seeing that I liked my sops, she said, "Reitch some +moor cake-brade. Jenny'll toast it for yo." + +I thanked her, and reached down another piece; which Jenny held to the +fire on a fork. And then we were silent for a minute or so. + +"I'll tell yo what," said Nanny, "some folk's o'th luck i'th world." + +"What's up now, Nanny?" replied I. + +"They say'n that Owd Bill, at Fo' Edge, has had a dowter wed, an' a +cow cauve't, an a mare foal't o' i' one day. Dun yo co' that nought?" + +Before I could reply, the sound of approaching footsteps came upon our +ears. Then, they stopt, a few yards off; and a clear voice trolled out a +snatch of country song:-- + + + "Owd shoon an' stockins, + An' slippers at's made o' red leather! + Come, Betty, wi' me, + Let's shap to agree, + An' hutch of a cowd neet together. + + "Mash-tubs and barrels! + A mon connot olez be sober; + A mon connot sing + To a bonnier thing + Nor a pitcher o' stingin' October." + + +"Jenny, my lass," said the old woman, "see who it is. It's oather +'Skedlock' or 'Nathan o' Dangler's.'" + +Jenny peeped through the window, an' said, "It's Skedlock. He's +lookin' at th' turmits i'th garden. Little Joseph's wi' him. They're +comin' in. Joseph's new clogs on." + +Skedlock came shouldering slowly forward into the cottage,--a tall, +strong, bright-eyed man, of fifty. His long, massive features were +embrowned by habitual exposure to the weather, and he wore the +mud-stained fustian dress of a quarryman. He was followed by a healthy +lad, about twelve years of age,--a kind of pocket-copy of himself. They +were as like one another as a new shilling and an old crown-piece. The +lad's dress was of the same kind as his father's, and he seemed to have +studiously acquired the same cart-horse gait, as if his limbs were as +big and as stark as his father's. + +"Well, Skedlock," said Nanny, "thae's getten Joseph witho, I see. Does +he go to schoo yet ?" + +"Nay; he reckons to worch i'th delph wi' me, neaw." + +"Nay, sure. Does he get ony wage?" + +"Nawe," replied Skedlock; "he's drawn his wage wi' his teeth, so fur. +But he's larnin', yo' known--he's larnin'. Where's yo'r Jone? I want to +see him abeawt some plants." + +"Well," said Nanny, "sit tho down a minute. Hasto no news? Thae'rt +seldom short of a crack o' some mak." + +"Nay," said Skedlock, scratching his rusty pate, "aw don't know 'at +aw've aught fresh." But when he had looked thoughtfully into the fire +for a minute or so, his brown face lighted up with a smile, and drawing +a chair up, he said, "Howd, Nanny; han yo yerd what a do they had at th' +owd chapel, yesterday?" + +"Nawe." + +"Eh, dear!... Well, yo known, they'n had a deal o' bother about music +up at that chapel, this year or two back. Yo'n bin a singer yo'rsel, +Nanny, i' yo'r young days--never a better." + +"Eh, Skedlock," said Nanny; "aw us't to think I could ha' done a bit, +forty year sin--an' I could, too--though I say it mysel. I remember +gooin' to a oratory once, at Bury. Deborah Travis wur theer, fro Shay. +Eh! when aw yerd her sing 'Let the bright seraphim,' aw gav in. +Isherwood wur theer; an' her at's Mrs Wood neaw; an' two or three fro +Yawshur road on. It wur th' grand'st sing 'at ever I wur at i' my +life.... Eh, I's never forget th' practice-neets 'at we use't to have at +owd Israel Grindrod's! Johnny Brello wur one on 'em. He's bin deead a +good while.... That's wheer I let of our Sam. He sang bass at that +time.... Poor Johnny! He's bin deead aboon five-an-forty year, neaw." + +"Well, but, Nanny," said Skedlock, laying his hand on the old woman's +shoulder, "yo known what a hard job it is to keep th' bant i'th nick wi' +a rook o' musicianers. They cap'n the world for bein' diversome, an' +jealous, an' bad to plez. Well, as I wur sayin'--they'n had a deeal o' +trouble about music this year or two back, up at th' owd chapel. Th' +singers fell out wi' th' players. They mostly dun do. An' th' players +did everything they could to plague th' singers. They're so like. But +yo' may have a like aim, Nanny, what mak' o' harmony they'd get out o' +sich wark as that. An' then, when Joss o' Piper's geet his wage +raise't--five shillin' a year--Dick o' Liddy's said he'd ha' moor too, +or else he'd sing no moor at that shop. He're noan beawn to be snape't +wi' a tootlin' whipper-snapper like Joss,--a bit of a bow-legged whelp, +twenty year yunger nor his-sel. Then there wur a crack coom i' Billy +Tootle bassoon; an' Billy stuck to't that some o'th lot had done it for +spite. An' there were sich fratchin an' cabals among 'em as never wur +known. An' they natter't, and brawl't, an' back-bote; and played one +another o' maks o' ill-contrive't tricks. Well, yo' may guess, Nanny-- + +"One Sunday mornin', just afore th' sarvice began, some o' th' singers +slipt a hawp'oth o' grey peighs an' two young rattons into old Thwittler +double-bass; an' as soon as he began a-playin', th' little things +squeak't an' scutter't about terribly i' th' inside, till thrut o' out +o' tune. Th' singers couldn't get forrud for laughin'. One on 'em +whisper't to Thwittler, an' axed him if his fiddle had getten th' +bally-warche. But Thwittler never spoke a word. His senses wur leavin' +him very fast. At last, he geet so freeten't, that he chuck't th' fiddle +down, an' darted out o'th chapel, beawt hat; an' off he ran whoam, in a +cowd sweet, wi' his yure stickin' up like a cushion-full o' +stockin'-needles. An' he bowted straight through th' heawse, an' reel +up-stairs to bed, wi' his clooas on, beawt sayin' a word to chick or +chighlt. His wife watched him run through th' heawse; but he darted +forrud, an' took no notice o' nobody. 'What's up now,' thought Betty; +an' hoo ran after him. When hoo geet up-stairs th' owd lad had retten +croppen into bed; an' he wur ill'd up, e'er th' yed. So Betty turned th' +quilt deawn, an' hoo said. 'Whatever's to do witho, James?' 'Howd te +noise!' said Thwittler, pooin' th' clooas o'er his yed again, 'howd te +noise! I'll play no moor at yon shop!' an' th' bed fair wackert again; +he 're i' sich a fluster. 'Mun I make tho a saup o' gruel?' said Betty. +'Gruel be ----!' said Thwittler, poppin' his yed out o' th' blankets. +'Didto ever yer ov onybody layin' the devil wi' meighl-porritch?' An' +then he poo'd th' blanket o'er his yed again. 'Where's thi fiddle?' +said Betty. But, as soon as Thwittler yerd th' fiddle name't, he gav a +sort of wild skrike, an' crope lower down into bed." + +"Well, well," said the old woman, laughing, and laying her knitting +down, "aw never yerd sich a tale i' my life." + +"Stop, Nanny," said Skedlock, "yo'st yer it out, now." + +"Well, yo seen, this mak o' wark went on fro week to week, till +everybody geet weary on it; an' at last, th' chapel-wardens summon't a +meetin' to see if they couldn't raise a bit o' daycent music, for +Sundays, beawt o' this trouble. An' they talked back an' forrud about it +a good while. Tum o'th Dingle recommended 'em to have a Jew's harp, an' +some triangles. But Bobby Nooker said, 'That's no church music! Did +onybody ever yer "Th' Owd Hundred," played upov a triangle?' Well, at +last they agreed that th' best way would be to have some sort of a +barrel-organ--one o' thoose that they winden up at th' side, an' then +they play'n o' theirsel, beawt ony fingerin' or blowin'. So they ordert +one made, wi' some favour-ite tunes in--'Burton,' and 'Liddy,' an' +'French,' an' 'Owd York,' an' sich like. Well, it seems that Robin o' +Sceawter's, th' carrier--his feyther went by th' name o' 'Cowd an' +Hungry;' he're a quarryman by trade; a long, hard, brown-looking felley, +wi' e'en like gig-lamps, an' yure as strung as a horse's mane. He looked +as if he'd bin made out o' owd dur-latches, an' reawsty nails. Robin, +th' carrier, is his owdest lad; an' he fawurs a chap at's bin brought up +o' yirth-bobs an' scaplins. Well, it seems that Robin brought this +box-organ up fro th' town in his cart o'th Friday neet; an' as luck +would have it, he had to bring a new weshin'-machine at th' same time, +for owd Isaac Buckley, at th' Hollins Farm. When he geet th' organ in +his cart, they towd him to be careful an' keep it th' reet side up; and +he wur to mind an' not shake it mich, for it wur a thing that wur yezzy +thrut eawt o' flunters. Well, I think Robin mun ha' bin fuddle't or +summat that neet. But I dunnot know; for he's sich a bowster-yed, mon, +that aw'll be sunken if aw think he knows th' difference between a +weshin'-machine an' a church organ, when he's at th' sharpest. But let +that leet as it will. What dun yo think but th' blunderin' foo,--at +after o' that had bin said to him,--went and 'liver't th' +weshin'-machine at th' church, an' th' organ at th' Hollins Farm." + +"Well, well," said Nanny, "that wur a bonny come off, shuz heaw. But +how wenten they on at after?" + +"Well, I'll tell yo, Nanny," said Skedlock. "Th' owd clerk wur noan in +when Robin geet to th' dur wi' his cart that neet, so his wife coom with +a leet in her hond, an' said, 'Whatever hasto getten for us this time, +Robert?' 'Why,' said Robin, 'it's some mak of a organ. Where win yo ha't +put, Betty?' 'Eh, I'm fain thae's brought it,' said Betty. 'It's for +th' chapel; an' it'll be wanted for Sunday. Sitho, set it deawn i' this +front reawm here; an' mind what thae'rt doin' with it.' So Robin, an' +Barfoot Sam, an' Little Wamble, 'at looks after th' horses at 'Th' +Rompin' Kitlin,' geet it eawt o'th cart. When they geet how'd ont, Robin +said, 'Neaw lads; afore yo starten: Mind what yo'r doin; an' be as +ginger as yo con. That's a thing 'at's soon thrut eawt o' gear--it's a +organ.' So they hove, an' poo'd, an' grunted, an' thrutch't, till they +geet it set down i'th parlour; an' they pretended to be quite knocked up +wi' th' job. 'Betty,' said Robin, wipin' his face wi' his sleeve, 'it's +bin dry weather latly.' So th' owd lass took th' hint, an' fetched 'em a +quart o' ale. While they stood i'th middle o'th floor suppin' their ale, +Betty took th' candle an' went a-lookin' at this organ; and hoo couldn't +tell whatever to make on it.... Did'n yo ever see a weshin'-machine, +Nanny?" + +"Never i' my life," said Nanny. "Nor aw dunnot want. Gi me a greight +mug, an' some breawn swoap, an' plenty o' soft wayter; an' yo may tak +yo'r machines for me." + +"Well," continued Skedlock, "it's moor liker a grindlestone nor a +organ. But, as I were tellin yo:-- + +"Betty stare't at this thing, an' hoo walked round it an' scrat her +yed mony a time, afore hoo ventur't to speak. At last hoo said, 'Aw'll +tell tho what, Robert; it's a quare-shaped 'un. It favvurs a yung +mangle! Doesto think it'll be reet?' 'Reet?' said Robin, swipin' his ale +off? 'oh, aye; it's reet enough. It's one of a new pattern, at's just +com'd up. It's o' reet, Betty. Yo may see that bith hondle.' 'Well,' +said Betty, 'if it's reet, it's reet. But it's noan sich a nice-lookin' +thin--for a church--that isn't!' Th' little lass wur i'th parlour at th' +same time; an' hoo said, 'Yes. See yo, mother. I'm sure it's right. You +must turn this here handle; and then it'll play. I seed a man playin' +one yesterday; an' he had a monkey with him, dressed like a soldier.' +'Keep thy little rootin' fingers off that organ,' said Betty. 'Theaw +knows nought about music. That organ musn't be touched till thi father +comes whoam,--mind that, neaw.... But, sartainly,' said Betty, takin th' +candle up again, 'I cannot help lookin' at this thing. It's sich a quare +un. It looks like summat belongin'--maut-grindin', or summat o' that.' +'Well,' said Robin, 'it has a bit o' that abeawt it, sartainly.... But +yo'n find it's o' reet. They're awterin' o' their organs to this +pattern, neaw. I believe they're for sellin th' organ at Manchester owd +church,--so as they can ha' one like this.' 'Thou never says!' said +Betty. 'Yigh,' said Robin, 'it's true, what I'm telling yo. But aw mun +be off, Betty. Aw 've to go to th' Hollins to-neet, yet.' 'Why, arto +takin' thame summat?' 'Aye; some mak of a new fangle't machine, for +weshin' shirts an' things.' 'Nay, sure!' said Betty. 'A'll tell tho +what, Robert; they 're goin' on at a great rate up at tat shop." 'Aye, +aye,' said Robin. 'Mon, there's no end to some folk's pride,--till they +come'n to th' floor; an' then there isn't, sometimes.' 'There isn't, +Robert; there isn't. An' I'll tell tho what; thoose lasses o' +theirs,--they're as proud as Lucifer. They're donned more like +mountebanks' foos, nor gradely folk,--wi' their fither't hats, an' their +fleawnces, an' their hoops, an' things. Aw wonder how they can for +shame' o' their face. A lot o' mee-mawing snickets! But they 're no +better nor porritch, Robert, when they're looked up.' 'Not a bit, +Betty,--not a bit! But I mun be off. Good neet to yo'.' 'Good neet +Robert,' said Betty. An' away he went wi' th' cart up to th' Hollins." + +"Aw'll tell tho what, Skedlock," said Nanny; "that woman's a terrible +tung!" + +"Aye, hoo has," replied Skedlock; "an' her mother wur th' same. But, +let me finish my tale, Nanny, an' then--" + +"Well, it wur pitch dark when Robin geet to th' Hollins farm-yard wi' +his cart. He gav a ran-tan at th' back dur, wi' his whip-hondle; and +when th' little lass coom with a candle, he said, 'Aw've getten a +weshin'-machine for yo.' As soon as th' little lass yerd that, hoo +darted off, tellin' o' th' house that th' new weshin'-machine wur +come'd. Well, yo known, they'n five daughters; an' very cliver, honsome, +tidy lasses they are, too,--as what owd Betty says. An' this news +brought 'em o' out o' their nooks in a fluster. Owd Isaac wur sit i'th +parlour, havin' a glass wi' a chap that he'd bin sellin' a cowt to. Th' +little lass went bouncin' into th' reawm to him; an' hoo said, 'Eh, +father, th' new weshin'-machine's come'd!' 'Well, well,' said Isaac, +pattin' her o'th yed; 'go thi ways an' tell thi mother. Aw'm no wesher. +Thae never sees me weshin', doesto? I bought it for yo lasses; an' yo +mun look after it yorsels. Tell some o'th men to get it into th' +wesh-house.' So they had it carried into th' wesh-house; an' when they +geet it unpacked they were quite astonished to see a grand shinin' +thing, made o' rose-wood, an' cover't wi' glitterin' kerly-berlys. Th' +little lass clapped her hands, an' said, 'Eh, isn't it a beauty!' But +th' owd'st daughter looked hard at it, an' hoo said, 'Well, this is th' +strangest weshin'-machine that I ever saw!' 'Fetch a bucket o' water,' +said another, 'an' let's try it!' But they couldn't get it oppen, +whatever they did; till, at last, they fund some keys, lapt in a piece +of breawn papper. 'Here they are,' said Mary. Mary's th' owd'st +daughter, yo known. 'Here they are;' an' hoo potter't an' rooted abeawt, +tryin' these keys; till hoo fund one that fitted at th' side, an' hoo +twirled it round an' round till hoo'd wund it up; an' then,--yo may +guess how capt they wur, when it started a-playin' a tune. 'Hello?' said +Robin. 'A psaum-tune, bith mass! A psaum-tune eawt ov a weshin'-machine! +Heaw's that?' An' he star't like a throttled cat. 'Nay,' said Mary, 'I +cannot tell what to make o' this!' Th' owd woman wur theer, an' hoo +said, 'Mary; Mary, my lass, thou 's gone an' spoilt it,--the very first +thing, theaw has. Theaw's bin tryin' th' wrong keigh, mon; thou has, for +sure.' Then Mary turned to Robin, an' hoo said, 'Whatever sort of a +machine's this, Robin?' 'Nay,' said Robin, 'I dunnot know, beawt it's +one o' thoose at's bin made for weshin' surplices.' But Robin begun +a-smellin' a rat; an', as he didn't want to ha' to tak it back th' same +neet, he pike't off out at th' dur, while they wur hearkenin' th' music; +an' he drove whoam as fast as he could goo. In a minute or two th' +little lass went dancin' into th' parlour to owd Isaac an' hoo cried +out, 'Father, you must come here this minute! Th' weshin'-machine's +playin' th' Owd Hundred!' 'It's what?' cried Isaac, layin' his pipe +down. 'It's playin' th' Owd Hundred! It is, for sure! Oh, it's +beautiful! Come on!' An' hoo tugged at his lap to get him into th' +wesh-house. Then th' owd woman coom in, and hoo said, 'Isaac, whatever +i' the name o' fortin' hasto bin blunderin' and doin' again? Come thi +ways an' look at this machine thae's brought us. It caps me if yean +yowling divle'll do ony weshin'. Thae surely doesn't want to ha' thi +shirt set to music, doesto? We'n noise enough i' this hole beawt yon +startin' or skrikin'. Thae'll ha' th' house full o' fiddlers an' +doancers in a bit.' 'Well, well,' said Isaac, 'aw never yerd sich a tale +i' my life! Yo'n bother't me a good while about a piano; but if we'n +getten a weshin'-machine that plays church music, we're set up, wi' a +rattle! But aw'll come an' look at it.' An' away he went to th' +wesh-house, wi' th' little lass pooin' at him, like a kitlin' drawin' a +stone-cart. Th' owd woman followed him, grumblin' o' th' road,--'Isaac, +this is what comes on tho stoppin' so lat' i'th town of a neet. There's +olez some blunderin' job or another. Aw lippen on tho happenin' a +sayrious mischoance, some o' these neets. I towd tho mony a time. But +thae tays no moor notis o' me nor if aw 're a milestone, or a turmit, or +summat. A mon o' thy years should have a bit o' sense.' + +"'Well, well,' said Isaac, hobblin' off, 'do howd thi din, lass! I'll +go an' see what ails it. There's olez summat to keep one's spirits up, +as Ab o' Slender's said when he broke his leg.' But as soon as Isaac +see'd th' weshin'-machine, he brast eawt a-laughin', an' he sed: 'Hello! +Why, this is th' church organ! Who's brought it?' 'Robin o' Sceawter's.' +'It's just like him. Where's th' maunderin' foo gone to?' 'He's off +whoam.' 'Well,' said Isaac, 'let it stop where it is. There'll be +somebody after this i'th mornin'.' An' they had some rare fun th' next +day, afore they geet these things swapt to their gradely places. +However, th' last thing o' Saturday neet th' weshin'-machine wur brought +up fro th' clerk's, an' th' organ wur takken to th' chapel." + +"Well, well," said th' owd woman; "they geet 'em reet at the end of +o', then?" + +"Aye," said Skedlock; "but aw've noan done yet, Nanny." + +"What, were'n they noan gradely sorted, then, at after o'?" + +"Well," said Skedlock, "I'll tell yo. + +"As I've yerd th' tale, this new organ wur tried for th' first time at +mornin' sarvice, th' next day. Dick-o'-Liddy's, th' bass singer, wur +pike't eawt to look after it, as he wur an' owd hond at music; an' th' +parson would ha' gan him a bit of a lesson, th' neet before, how to +manage it, like. But Dick reckon't that nobody'd no 'casion to larn him +nought belungin' sich like things as thoose. It wur a bonny come off if +a chap that had been a noted bass-singer five-and-forty year, an' could +tutor a claronet wi' ony mon i' Rosenda Forest, couldn't manage a +box-organ,--beawt bein' teyched wi' a parson. So they gav him th' keys, +and leet him have his own road. Well, o' Sunday forenoon, as soon as th' +first hymn wur gan out, Dick whisper't round to th' folk i'th +singin'-pew, 'Now for't! Mind yor hits! Aw 'm beawn to set it agate!' +An' then he went, an' wun th' organ up, an' it started a-playin' +'French;' an' th' singers followed, as weel as they could, in a slattery +sort of a way. But some on 'em didn't like it. They reckon't that they +made nought o' singin' to machinery. Well, when th' hymn wur done, th' +parson said, 'Let us pray,' an' down they went o' their knees. But just +as folk wur gettin' their e'en nicely shut, an' their faces weel hud i' +their hats, th' organ banged off again, wi' th' same tune. 'Hello!' said +Dick, jumpin' up, 'th' divle's oft again, bith mass!' Then he darted at +th' organ; an' he rooted about wi' th' keys, tryin' to stop it. But th' +owd lad wur i' sich a fluster, that istid o' stoppin' it, he swapped th' +barrel to another tune. That made him warse nor ever. Owd Thwittler +whisper'd to him, 'Thire, Dick; thae's shapt that nicely! Give it +another twirl, owd bird!' Well, Dick sweat, an' futter't about till he +swapped th' barrel again. An' then he looked round th' singin'-pew, as +helpless as a kittlin'; an' he said to th' singers, 'Whatever mun aw do, +folk?' an' tears coom into his e'en. 'Roll it o'er,' said Thwittler. +'Come here, then,' said Dick. So they roll't it o'er, as if they wanted +to teem th' music out on it, like ale oat of a pitcher. But the organ +yowlt on; and Dick went wur an' wur. 'Come here, yo singers,' said Dick, +'come here; let's sit us down on't! Here, Sarah; come, thee; thou'rt a +fat un!' An' they sit 'em down on it; but o' wur no use. Th' organ wur +reet ony end up; an' they couldn't smoor th' sound. At last Dick gav in; +an' he leant o'er th' front o' th' singin'-pew, wi' th' sweat runnin' +down his face; an' he sheawted across to th' parson, 'Aw cannot stop it! +I wish yo'd send somebry up.' Just then owd Pudge, th' bang-beggar, coom +runnin' into th' pew, an' he fot Dick a sous at back o' th' yed wi' his +pow, an' he said, 'Come here, Dick; thou'rt a foo. Tak howd; an' let's +carry it eawt.' Dick whisked round an' rubbed his yed, an' he said, 'Aw +say, Pudge, keep that pow to thisel', or else I'll send my shoon against +thoose ribbed stockin's o' thine.' But he went an' geet howd, an' him +an' Pudge carried it into th' chapel-yard, to play itsel' out i'th open +air. An' it yowlt o' th' way as they went, like a naughty lad bein' +turn't out of a reawm for cryin'. Th' parson waited till it wur gone; +an' then he went on wi' th' sarvice. When they set th' organ down i'th +chapel yard, owd Pudge wiped his for-yed, an' he said, 'By th' mass, +Dick, thae'll get th' bag for this job.' 'Whau, what for,' said Dick. +'Aw 've no skill of sich like squallin' boxes as this. If they'd taen my +advice, an' stick't to th' bass fiddle, aw could ha stopt that ony +minute. It has made me puff, carryin' that thing. I never once thought +that it 'd start again at after th' hymn wur done. Eh, I wur some mad! +If aw'd had a shool-full o' smo' coals i' my hond, aw'd hachuck't 'em +into't.... Yer, tho', how it's grindin' away just th' same as nought +wur. Aye, thae may weel play th' Owd Hundred, divvleskin. Thae's made a +funeral o' me this mornin'.... But, aw say, Pudge; th' next time at +there's aught o' this sort agate again, aw wish thae'd be as good as +keep that pow o' thine to thysel', wilto? Thae's raise't a nob at th' +back o' my yed th' size of a duck-egg; an' it'll be twice as big by +mornin'. How would yo like me to slap tho o' th' chops wi' a +stockin'-full o' slutch, some Sunday, when thae'rt swaggerin' at front +o' th' parson?' + +"While they stood talkin' this way, one o'th singers coom runnin' out +o'th chapel bare yed, an' he shouted out 'Dick, thae'rt wanted, this +minute! Where's that pitch-pipe? We'n gated wrang twice o' ready! Come +in, wi' tho'!' 'By th' mass,' said Dick, dartin' back; 'I'd forgetten o' +about it. I'se never seen through this job, to my deein' day.' An' off +he ran, an' laft owd Pudge sit upo' th' organ, grinnin' at him.... +That's a nice do, isn't it, Nanny?" + +"Eh," said the old woman, "I never yerd sich a tale i' my life. But +thae's made part o' that out o' th' owd yed, Skedlock." + +"Not a word," said he: "not a word. Yo han it as I had it, Nanny; as +near as I can tell." + +"Well," replied she, "how did they go on at after that?" + +"Well," said he, "I haven't time to stop to-neet, Nanny; I'll tell yo +some time else, I thought Jone would ha' bin here by now. He mun ha' +co'de at 'Th' Rompin' Kitlin'; but, I'll look in as I go by.'" + +"I wish thou would, Skedlock. An' dunnot' go an' keep him, now; send +him forrud whoam." + +"I will, Nanny--I dunnot want to stop, mysel'. Con yo lend me a +lantron?" + +"Sure I can. Jenny, bring that lantron; an' leet it. It'll be two +hours afore th' moon rises. It's a fine neet, but it's dark." + +When Jenny brought the lantern, I bade Nanny "Good night," and took +advantage of Owd Skedlock's convoy down the broken paths, to the high +road in the valley. There we parted; and I had a fine starlight walk to +"Th' Top o' th' Hoof," on that breezy October night. + +After a quiet supper in "Owd Bob's" little parlour, I took a walk +round about the quaint farmstead, and through the grove upon the brow of +the hill. The full moon had risen in the cloudless sky; and the view of +the valley as I saw it from "Grant's Tower" that night, was a thing to +be remembered with delight for a man's lifetime. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TH' BARREL ORGAN*** + + +******* This file should be named 15986.txt or 15986.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/9/8/15986 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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