so pined and windered" were they; and others
so fresh and canny, you'd say the dead had never looked so bonny in
life.

Then they began to talk of people who grew tall in their coffins, of
others who had been buried alive, and of others who walked after death.
Stories as true as holy writ.

"Were you ever down by Hawarth, Mrs. Bligh--hard by Dalworth Moss?"
asked crook-backed Mrs. Wale, holding her spoon suspended over her cup.

"Neea whaar sooa far south, Mrs. Wale, ma'am; but ma father was off
times down thar cuttin' peat."

"Ah, then ye'll not a kenned farmer Dykes that lived by the Lin-tree
Scaur. 'Tweer I that laid him out, poor aad fellow, and a dow man he was
when aught went cross wi' him; and he cursed and sweared, twad gar ye
dodder to hear him. They said he was a hard man wi' some folk; but he
kep a good house, and liked to see plenty, and many a time when I was
swaimous about my food, he'd clap t' meat on ma plate, and mak' me eat
ma fill. Na, na--there was good as well as bad in farmer Dykes. It was a
year after he deed, and Tom Ettles was walking home, down by the Birken
Stoop one night, and not a soul nigh, when he sees a big ball, as high
as his knee, whirlin' and spangin' away before him on the road. What it
wer he could not think; but he never consayted there was a freet or a bo
thereaway; so he kep near it, watching every spang and turn it took,
till it ran into the gripe by the roadside. There was a gravel pit just
there, and Tom Ettles wished to take another gliff at it before he went
on. But when he keeked into the pit, what should he see but a man
attoppa a horse that could not get up or on: and says he, 'I think ye be
at a dead-lift there, gaffer.' And wi' the word, up looks the man, and
who sud it be but farmer Dykes himsel; and Tom Ettles saw him plain
eneugh, and kenned the horse too for Black Captain, the farmer's aad
beast, that broke his leg and was shot two years and more before the
farmer died. 'Ay,' says farmer Dykes, lookin' very bad;
'forsett-and-backsett, ye'll tak me oot, Tom Ettles, and clap ye doun
behint me quick, or I'll claw ho'd o' thee.' Tom felt his hair risin'
stiff on his heed, and his tongue so fast to the roof o' his mouth he
could scarce get oot a word; but says he, 'If Black Jack can't do it o'
noo, he'll ne'er do't and carry double.' 'I ken my ain business best,'
says Dykes. 'If ye gar me gie ye a look, 'twill gie ye the creepin's
while ye live; so git ye doun, Tom;