As I walked out in my garden of lilies There I saw endible, crindible, cronable kernt Ofttimes pestered my eatable, peatable, partable present, And I called for my man William, the second of quillan, To bring me a quill of anatilus feather That I might conquer the endible, crindible, cronable kernt.

She looked about the puzzled faces. “I’ll not plague your minds to find the answer. I’ll give it to you. As the woman walked out in her garden she saw a rabbit eating her cabbage and she called for her second husband to bring her a shotgun that she might kill the rabbit.”

The old teller of riddles pointed out that there was good in their telling. “People have been known to be scared out of doing meanness just by a riddle. Now what would you think this one would be?

Riddle to my riddle to my right, You can’t guess where I laid last Friday night; The wind did blow, my heart did ache To see what a hole that fox did make.

Whoever knows can answer.” She looked at Josie Binner. “You have the best remembrance of anyone I know. Don’t tell me you can’t give the answer.”

“I never heard it before,” Josie had to admit, twisting her kerchief and looking down at the floor.

“Speak out!” urged Aunt Lindie. But no one did so she riddled the riddle. “A wicked man once planned to kill his sweetheart. He went first to dig her grave and then meant to throw her into it. She got an inkling of his intent, watched from the branches of a tree, then accused him with that riddle. He skipped the country and so that riddle saved a young girl’s life. And while we’re on trees, here’s another:

Horn eat a horn in a white oak tree. Guess this riddle and you may hang me.

For the fun of it they all pretended not to know the answer so she gave it. “You’re just pranking,” she admonished playfully, “but nohow—a man named Horn eat a calf’s horn as he sat up in a white oak tree. But I’ll give you one now to take along with you. It’s a Bible riddle, now listen well:

God made Adam out of dust, But thought it best to make me first; So I was made before the man, To answer God’s most holy plan.
My body he did make complete, But without legs or hands or feet; My ways and actions did control, And I was made without a soul.
A living being I became; ’Twas Adam that gave me my name; Then from his presence I withdrew; No more of Adam ever knew.
I did my Maker’s laws obey; From them I never went astray; Thousands of miles I run, I fear, But seldom on the earth appear.
But God in me did something see, And put a living soul in me. A soul of me my God did claim, And took from me that soul again.
But when from me the soul was fled, I was the same as when first made. And without hands, or feet, or soul, I travel now from pole to pole.
I labor hard, both day and night, To fallen man I give great light; Thousands of people, both young and old, Will by my death great light behold.
No fear of death doth trouble me, For happiness I cannot see; To Heaven I shall never go, Nor to the grave, or hell below.
And now, my friends, these lines you read, And scan the Scriptures with all speed; And if my name you don’t find there, I’ll think it strange, I must declare.”