They all went to bed again, and the damsel began, as before, singing:

"Seven long years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I clomb for thee,
Thy bloody clothes I wrang for thee;
And wilt thou not waken and turn to me?"

He heard, and turned to her. And she told him all that had befallen
her, and he told her all that had happened to him. And he caused the old
washerwife and her daughter to be burnt. And they were married, and he
and she are living happy to this day for aught I know.




Yallery Brown


Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, though it wasn't in my
time, nor in your time, nor any one else's time, there was a young lad
of eighteen or so named Tom Tiver working on the Hall Farm. One Sunday
he was walking across the west field, 't was a beautiful July night,
warm and still and the air was full of little sounds as though the trees
and grass were chattering to themselves. And all at once there came a
bit ahead of him the pitifullest greetings ever he heard, sob, sobbing,
like a bairn spent with fear, and nigh heartbroken; breaking off into a
moan and then rising again in a long whimpering wailing that made him
feel sick to hark to it. He began to look everywhere for the poor
creature. "It must be Sally Bratton's child," he thought to himself;
"she was always a flighty thing, and never looked after it. Like as not,