"'But wheer's t' sense o' settin' a potate at t' back-end?'

"'Thou'll not have to wait so lang to see what cooms on 't,' he replied,
and then he turned on his heel an' left me standin' theer.

"Well, I reckoned it were a fooil's trick, but all t' same I put t'
potate back into t' grund, an' went home. That neet it started rainin'
an' it kept at it off an' on for well-nigh a week, an' I couldn't get
down to my 'lotment nohow. But all t' time I couldn't tak my mind off o'
t' lad that had made me bury my potate. He'd green eyes, an' I could
niver get shut o' them eyes choose what I were doin'. Well, after a
while it faired up, and I set off for my garden. When I gat nigh I were
fair capped. I'd set t' potate at t' top-side o' t' 'lotment, and theer,
just wheer I'd set it, were a pig-sty, wi' a pig inside it fit to kill.
I were that flustered you could ha' knocked me down wi' a feather. I
looked at t' sty, and then at t' pig, an' then I felt t' pig, an' he
were reight fat. An' when I'd felt t' pig I turned round to see if t'
'lotment were fairly mine, and theer stood t' lad that had telled me to
bury t' potate.

"'Well,' he says, 'is owt wrang wi' t' pig?'

"'Nay, there's nowt wrang wi' t' pig, but how did he get here?'

"'He'll happen have coom out o' that potate thou set i' t' grund last
week,' and he looked at me wi' them green eyes an' started girnin'. 'But
thou mun bury t' pig same as thou buried t' potate.'

"'Bury t' pig!' I said. 'I'd sooiner bury t' missus ony day. We've bin