Page:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 2, 1891.djvu/326

270 back agean! A wud ha bin thy friend 'n wo'k fur'ee ef thou 'd a bin wise; but sin thou bee'st no more 'n a born fool a'l give 'ee no more 'n 'a born fool's luck; an' when all goes arsy-varsy, an iverythin' a gee—thou'll mind as its Yallery Brown's doin', thoff mappen thou disn't see un. Ma'ark ma wo'ds, wull ee?"

An he 'gan to sing, dancin' roon' ma, loike a barn wi' 's yaller hair, but lookin' au'der nor iver wi' 's grinnin' wrinkled bit o' a fa'ace:

A! a said they very wo'ds, an' they ha ringed in ma ears iver sence, over 'n over agean, loike a bell tollin' fur tha buryin', an' facks, it wor th' buryin' o' ma luck—fur a niver 'd any sence. Hawiver, th' imp stood theer mockin' 'n grinin' at ma, an' choocklin' loike th' au'd de'il's o'an wicked se'f.

An', man!—a can't reetly min' what he said nex'. 'Twor ahl cussin' 'n callin' doon' misfortin on ma; but a wor so ma'azed in froight that a cud on'y stan' theer, shakin' all ower ma, 'n starin' doon at th' horrid thing; an' a reckon ef he'd a gone on long, a 'd a tummelt doon in a fit. But by-'n-by, 's yaller shinin' hair—a can't abide yaller hair sence that—riz oop in th' air, an' wrapt itsel roon'un, while a lookit fur all th' worl' loike a great dandelion puff; 'n a flo'ated awa'ay on th' win' ower tha wa'll 'n out o' soight, wi' a partin' skirl o 's wicked voice 'n sneerin' laugh.

A tell thee, a wor nigh de'ad wi fear, an' a cayn't sca'arcely tell how a iver got hoam at all, but a did somehow, a s'pose.

Well, that's all; it's not much of a ta'ale, but it's tre-ue, ivery wo'd o't, an' theer's others aside mea as ha seed