Page:Notes on the folk-lore of the northern counties of England and the borders.djvu/343

Rh Ellis, who had lived for generations at a house now called the Abbey House, Kirkstall, but the proper name of which is the Bar Grange. “Th’ man war thrashing i th’ Abba lair, and at nooning a thocht he’d streckin his back, an when he gat out he saw a hoile under th’ Abba, an he crept in, and he fun an entry and he went doon it, and at bottom there was a gert house place. There were a gert fire blazing on t’ hart-stone, an in ae corner war tied up a fine black horse. And when it seed him it whinnied. An behind the horse was a gert black oak kist, and at top o’ t’ kist a gert black cock, an cock crawed. Th’man said to hissel ‘Brass in t’ kist, I’ll haesum on’t.’ An as he went up to’t, t’ horse whinnied higher and higher, and cock crawed louder and louder, an when he laid his hand on t’ kist t’ horse made such a din, an t’ cock crawed and flapped his wings, an summat fetched him such a flap on t’ side o’ his head as felled him flat, an he knowed nowt more till he came to hissel an he war lying on’t common in t’ lair, and never could he find the hoile under the Abba again.”

Mr. G. M. Tweddell thus relates the history of an apparition which with fitting retributive justice haunted a certain Yorkshire farmer.

An old woman of Sexhow, near Stokesley, appeared after her death to a farmer of the place, and informed him that, beneath a certain tree in his apple orchard, he would find a hoard of gold and silver which she had buried there. He was to take a spade and dig it up, keep the silver for his trouble, but give the gold to a niece of hers who was then living in great poverty, and whose place of abode she pointed out. At daybreak after his dream or vision, the farmer went to the spot indicated, dug and found the treasure, but kept it all to himself, though the sum allotted to him was considerable, and might have satisfied him. From that day, however, he never knew rest or happiness. Though a sober man before, he took to drinking, but all in vain—his conscience gave him no rest. Every night, at home or abroad, old Nanny’s ghost failed not to dog his steps, and reproach him with his faithlessness. At last, one Saturday evening, the neighbours heard him returning from Stokesley Market very