And set it forenenst me before you burn.
Francis John didn’t ask to disturb her diversions at all, so he went on his way and filled up his can at the spring. But all the road home the old lassie’s song tormented his mind, and as he came in at the door he began for to sing:
Ye that she bakes before the fire,
Bring me the milk from the neighbour’s byre;
Gather the butter from off the churn
And set it forenenst me before you burn.
With the power of the words coming from him didn’t the boots on his feet fill up with sweet milk, and it running out on the lace holes.
“Man, but that’s an enchanted song,” says he. And what did he do only step into four pounds of butter that fell on the threshold before him, for he never remarked it at all!