‘She was takyn with an elfe.
I saw it myself
When the clok stroke twelf
Was she forshapyn.’
“That doesn’t bring us any closer to ‘lork’.”
“The twelfth month appears to have been explained though.”
Well, the next day, har husband he took her inter the room, an’ there was the flax an’ the day’s vittles.
‘Now, there’s the flax,’ says he, ‘an’ if that ain’t spun up this night off goo yar hid.’ An then he went out and locked the door.
He’d hardly goon, when there was a knockin’ agin the winder.
She upped and she oped it, and there sure enough was the little oo’d thing a settin on the ledge.
‘Where’s the flax?’ says he.
‘Here te be,’ says she. And she gonned it to him.
Well, come the evenin’, a knockin come agin to the winder. She upped an’ she oped it, and there were the little oo’d thing, with five skeins on his arm.
‘Here te be,’ says he, an’ he gonned it to her.
‘Now, what’s my name?’ says he.
‘What, is that Ben?’ says she.
‘Noo, that ain’t,’ says he. An’ he twirled his tail.
‘Is that Ned?’ says she.
‘Noo, that ain’t,’ says he. An’ he twirled is tail.
‘Well, is that Don?’ says she.
‘Noo, that ain’t,’ says he. An’ he twirled his tail harder, an awa’ he flew.
“It’s definitely an imp because it’s got wings.”
“That twirling of the tail is a tad suspicious.”
“It reminds me of Anu, ‘cept it’s a long tail like a lion’s only black and leathery.”
“I see it, weighted like the tail of a Pterodactyl.”
“Bat like wings.”
“Uggh, makes me shiver.”
“Three wells make a river…”
Well, when har husban’ he come in: there was the five skeins riddy for him. ‘I see I shorn’t hev for to kill you tonight, me dare,’ says he. ‘Yewll hev yar vittles and yar flax in the morning,’ an’ away he goes.
Well, ivery day the flax an’ the vittles, they was browt, an’ ivery day that there little black impet used for to come mornin’s and evenin’s. An’ all the day she set a tryin’ fur to think of names to say to it when te come at night. But she niver hot on the right one. An’ as that got to-warts the ind o’ the month, the impet that began for to look soo maliceful, an’ that twirled that’s tail faster an’ faster each time she gave a guess.
“That’s four wells.”
“Four wells make a bigger river.”
“Is an Impet the same as an imp?”
“I expect it is similar but perhaps even smaller.”
“Which may explain ‘small little’…”
At last te come to the last day but one. The impet that come at night along o’ the five skeins, and that said, ‘What, aint yew got my name yet?’
‘Is that Nicodemus?’ says she.
‘Noo, t’ain’t,’ that says.
‘Is that Sammel?’ says she.
‘Noo, t’aint,’ that says.
‘Ah well, that’s sure to be Methusalem?’ says she.
‘Noo, t’aint that norther,’ that says.
Then that looks at her with that’s eyes like a cool o’ fire, an’ that says, ‘Woman, there’s only tomorrer night, an’ then yar’ll be mine!’ An’ away te flew.
To be continued…