“How the poor Piskey must suffer!” thought she. “He has to pass most of his time out among the rushes in the boggy moor, and his legs are naked, and his breeches are full of holes. I’ll make the poor fellow a good warm suit of home-spun, at once!”
No sooner thought than she went home and began the suit. In a day or two she had made a coat and breeches, and knitted a long pair of sheep’s wool stockings, with garters and a nightcap all nicely knitted, too.
When night came, the widow placed the Piskey’s new clothes and a big bowl of thickened milk on the barn floor, just where the moonlight fell brightest. Then she went outside, and peeped through the door.
Soon she saw the Piskey eating his supper, and squinting at the new clothes. Laying down his empty bowl, he took the things, and put them on over his rags. Then he began capering and jumping around the barn, singing:—
“Piskey fine! and Piskey gay!
Piskey now will run away!”
And sure enough, he bolted out of the door, and passed the widow, without so much as “I wish you well till I see you again!” And he never came back to the farm.