“Yi!” he said.

“Yi!” she repeated.

“An’ slaip wi’ me,” he said. “It needs that. When sholt come?”

“When sholl I?” she said.

“Nay,” he said, “tha canna do’t. When sholt come then?”

“ ’Appen Sunday,” she said.

“ ’Appen a’ Sunday! Ay!”

He laughed at her quickly.

“Nay, tha canna,” he protested.

“Why canna I?” she said.

He laughed. Her attempts at the dialect were so ludicrous, somehow.