ys troubled in 'es mind 'cause 'a cudn' onderstaand what
the birds was sayin'.

"I'd give anything in the world," says the bucca-davy,[I] "ef I cud
onnly larn to spayke weth they."

"Aw, es it so, me dear," said the stranyer: "well, I'll tayche'ee to
talk to they, sure 'nuff, ef thee'll come up to that owld Quoit weth
me."

"What must I pay'ee?" axed the youngster, bowld-like. For he'd heerd o'
cureyus bargains o' this kind, an' 'a dedn' want to risk 'es sawl.

"Nawthin'! Nawthin', me dear!" said the stranyer. "I shall git paid
for't in a way o' me awn."

Well, the end of it was, accordin' to the story, that the youngster
'greed to go 'long weth un: so up the two of 'em went to the Quoit.

When they come up to un the stones seemed to oppen, an' they went inside
an' found un like a house. But that was hunderds o' years ago. The owld
Quoit now es more like a crellas, though 'a still got a bra' gayte rock
for a roof.

Anyhow, they went in, 'cordin' to the story; an' there they lived for a
number o' years.

But, somehow, when they was wance got in, the youngster cudn' git out
agen nohow. 'A cud geek through the cracks, an' see the country an' the
people, but the stones wedn' oppen, an' 'a cudn' git out.

But the owld black witch keeped 'es promise to un, an' tayched un all
that 'a wanted to knaw.

The craws that croaked on the Quoit in the sunshine, an' the sparrers
an' wagtails an' awther kinds o' birds that come flittin' round an'
cheepin' to ayche awther, the owld witch tayched un ('cordin' to the
story) to onderstaand everything any of 'em said.

Well, at laast 'a got so cliver, ded the youngster, that there warn't no
bird but what 'a cud talk to; from the owld black raven, wha's all'ys
cryin' "_corpse!_" to the putty li'l robins what wedn' hurt a worm.

But aw! lor' Jimmeny! warn't 'a disappointed when 'a found what 'a'd ben
so hankerin' arter warn't wuth givin' a snail's shill to knaw.

He'd ben thinkin', 'fore 'a cud onderstaand them, that what they'd be
talkin' about to ayche awther wed be somethin' cureyus an' mighty
cliver, all sorts o' strange owld saycrets, s'pose. But 'a found, when
'a come to spayke their language, that instead o' tellin' 'bout haypes
o' treasures, an' hunted housen, an' owld queer ways, they was all the
time talkin' 'bout their mait or their nestes, an' awther silly jabber
like that.

So 'a was mighty disappointed, an' got very law-sperrited, though 'a
dedn' like to confess