Page:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 2, 1891.djvu/467

Rh "An' what fur thou gan', then, born fool?" screeched th' me'aster, clean tuk a-back—Fred wor so simple.

"A coom to git summat t' ate, o' coorse" says th' critter, kickin' awa'ay ahl th' toime, wi' 's hind legs. "Mistress wor throng,"

"Throng, says a?" yelled th' fa'armer, dancin' wi' rage, "Thou 'rt a thief; a thief, a tell 'ee, an' a'll l'arn 'ee to ste'al ma me'at!"

An' a oop wi' 's stick, an' 'gun to bet un wi' ahl 's moight. An' Fred, seest tha, wor in a stra'ange 'n' handy attichoode, as a mowt say, an' guv' a fine pla'ace fur the bettin' to fall on. But by-'n'-by oop coom th' mistress an' squeels a'out:

"Stop!" wi' a v'ice loike a pig ben' kil't. "Ef thou bet un, me'aster, a'll ate us out er ha'ouse 'n' home, a will; do'ant 'ee, doant 'ee now, whativer thou do'a!"

"That's so!" says th' fa'armer, stroock ahl o' a he'ap; an' thowt a bit.

"Wal', a reckon, a'll mak' tha min' as a cot tha ste'alin' annyways!" says a; an' a set to 'n' pulled off a nail f'um Fred's thoomb an' let un goo wi' a las' kick.

Fred wor main glad to ha' done wi' 't, 's thou may reckon, an' didn't seem to fret 'ba'outs nail to speak on.

But by-'n'-by a fun 's clo'es ahl to rags, an' a cu'dn't barely ho'd un togither, so 's to hide un's skin.

"A mun be dacent, a guess," says a to 's sel'. "Tha'll niver lemme goo nackt, a reckon. Ay, th' me'aster said 's 'd kip ma 'i' clo'es, an' 's got he'aps o' 's o'an, so 'll goo 'n' git summat to wanst."

An' a off to th' ha'ouse, 'n' tuk th' fa'armer's new breeches an 's best co'at, an' who so fain o' 's sel' as Fred, thoff tha wor so wide as a mun ho'd 'em oop in 's two han's.

But jist as a got to th' door, th' me'aster an' 's wife cot un age'an,

"What thou got theer?" screeches th' missis. " Ma me'aster's bes' clo'es. A niver! What 'll a do nex'?" [sic] Thou 's th' biggest fool an' th' fon'est."

"Th' domdist thief tha be !" yells th' fa'armer, green wi'