i t' wark by midneet.'

"'Then we sal hae to give ower,' said Throp. 'It'll be Sunday morn i' a
quairter of an hour, an' I'm noan baan to work o' Sunday.'

"When Throp's wife heerd that shoo burst out a-roarin'. 'I'm an idle
good-for-nowt,' shoo said. 'Eh! but I mun finish t' bag; I mun, I mun.'

"'I'm noan baan to work when t' clock has struck twelve,' Throp said
agean, 'nor let thee work, nowther. I'm a deacon at t' Independent
Chapil, an' I'll noan let fowks say that they saw a leet i' wer kitchen,
an' heerd thy wheel buzzin' of a Sunday morn.'

"When Throp's wife heerd that, shoo fell to roarin' agean, for shoo knew
they'd noan be through wi' t' spinnin' while a quairter past twelve. But
at lang length shoo turned to Throp an' shoo said: 'Let's put t' clock
back, an' then, if onybody's passin' an' looks in on us, an' wants to
know why we're workin' of a Sunday morn, we can show 'em t' clock.'

"Throp said nowt for a bit; he was a soft sort o' a chap, an' didn't
want to start fratchin' wi' his wife. So just to please her, he gat up
on to t' stooil an' put back t' hands o' t' clock twenty minutes. An' t'
clock gave a despert gert groan; 'twere summat atween a groan an' a
sweer, an' it went straight to Throp's heart, an' he wished he'd niver
melled wi' t' clock. Howiver, he com back to his cardin', an' when t'
clock strack twelve, t' bag o' wool were empty, an' there were a gert
hank o' spun yarn as big as a man's heead. Throp looked at his wife, an'
there were a glint in her een that he'd niver seen theer afore; shoo
were fair ditherin' wi' pride an' flustration. 'Fowks san't say "Thrang
as Throp's wife" for nowt,' shoo said, and shoo gat up off t' stooil,
sided away t' spinnin'-wheel, an' stalked off to bed wi' Throp at her
heels. Eh! mon, but 'twere a false sort o' pride were yon."

"Did people find out about putting the clock back?" I asked.

"Nay, 'twere worse nor that," Timothy replied. "That neet there was a
storm at Cohen-eead the likes o' which had niver bin seen theer afore.
There was thunner an' leetnin', and a gert sough o' wind that com
yowlin' across t' moor an' freetened iverybody wellnigh out o' their
five senses. Fowks wakkened up an' said 'twere Judgment Day, an' T' Man
Aboon had coom to separate t' sheep frae t' goats. When t' cockleet com,
t' storm had fallen a bit, an' fowks gat out o' bed to see if owt had
happened 'em. Slates, and mebbe a chimley or two, had bin rived off t'
roofs, but t' b