"There's prouder work for me 'pon Dragon's Moor," the Mounster decided, with smiling eyes. "Come along, mother, an' see me exalted."
The crowd bore him off at their head, and the din broke out again. The new Mayor strutted among them with lifted chin and a radiant face. He thought it glorious. His mother ran into the cottage, fetched a bottle and followed after the dusty tail of the procession. Once, as they were passing a running stream, she halted and filled the bottle carefully, emptying it again and again until the film outside the glass was to her liking. Then she followed again, and came to Dragon's Moor.
They sat the Mayor on a mound, took off his hat, placed a crown on his head and a broomstick in his hand, and brought him the cases to try.
The first was a grey mare, possessed (they alleged) with a devil.
Her skin hung like a sack on her bones.
"'Tis Eli Thoms' mare. What's to be done to cure her?" they asked.
"Let Eli Thoms buy a comb, an' comb his mare's tail while she eats her feed. So Eli'll know if 'tis the devil or no that steals oats from his manger."
They applauded his wisdom and brought forward the woman who had pleaded just now with his mother.
"Who made her?" he asked, having listened to the charge.
"God, 'tis to be supposed."
"God makes no evil."