I didn't know what to do. I dursn't set hand to t' spade, an' efter a
minute I crept back to bed wi' them green eyes followin' me, an' burnin'
hoils i' my back same as if they'd bin two red-hot coils. Sooin as
cockleet com, I gat up, dressed misen an' set off for t' 'lotment, 'an
by t' Mess! what does ta reckon was t' first thing I saw?"

"Had the pig come to life again?" I asked in wonder.

"Nay, 'twere better nor that," replied Abe. "I' t' spot wheer I'd buried
t' pig an' buried t' potate afore that, somebody had belt a house, ay,
an' belt it all i' one neet. It had sprung up like a mushroom. So I went
up to t' house an' looked in at t' windey, an' by Gow! but it were my
house an' all."

"How did you know that it was your house?" I asked.

"Well, you see," Abe rejoined, "I could tell by t' furnitur that were in
it. There was our kitchen-table that I'd bowt at t' sale when t' missus
an' me were wed, an' t'owd rockin'-chair set agean t' fire; ay, an' t'
pot-dogs on t' chimley-piece an' my father's an' muther's buryin'-cards
framed on t' walls; 'twere all plain as life."

"So the lad with the green eyes had carried away your house in the night
and set it down on your allotment?"

"Nay, 'twere nowt o' t' sort. T' house wheer I'd bin livin' were a
back-to-back house, facin' north, so as we niver gat no sun thro' yeer's
end to yeer's end. But t' new house stood all by itsen, wi' windeys on
all sides, an' a back door oppenin' into t' gardin. If there were one
thing that t' missus an' me had set wer hearts on 'twere a back-door.