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licked a doozen such as him when I was yoong as thee. But thee
be’est a poor broken-doon chap,’ said John, sadly, ‘and God forgi’
me for bragging ower yan o’ his weakest creeturs!’

Smike opened his mouth to speak, but John Browdie stopped

‘Stan’ still,’ said the Yorkshireman, ‘and doant’ee speak a
morsel o’ talk till I tell’ee.’

With this caution, John Browdie shook his head significantly,
and drawing a screwdriver from his pocket, took off the box of the
lock in a very deliberate and workmanlike manner, and laid it,
together with the implement, on the floor.

‘See thot?’ said John ‘Thot be thy doin’. Noo, coot awa’!’
Smike looked vacantly at him, as if unable to comprehend his

‘I say, coot awa’,’ repeated John, hastily. ‘Dost thee know where
thee livest? Thee dost? Weel. Are yon thy clothes, or

‘Mine,’ replied Smike, as the Yorkshireman hurried him to the
adjoining room, and pointed out a pair of shoes and a coat which
were lying on a chair.

‘On wi’ ’em,’ said John, forcing the wrong arm into the wrong
sleeve, and winding the tails of the coat round the fugitive’s neck.
‘Noo, foller me, and when thee get’st ootside door, turn to the
right, and they wean’t see thee pass.’

‘But--but--he’ll hear me shut the door,’ replied Smike,
trembling from head to foot.

‘Then dean’t shut it at all,’ retorted John Browdie. ‘Dang it,
thee bean’t afeard o’ schoolmeasther’s takkin cold, I hope?’

‘N-no,’ said Smike, his teeth chattering in his head. ‘But he

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