“It’s an oat cake!” said his wife staring.
“Catch it woman! Catch it, before it rolls away again!” cried the weaver.
The woman chased the oat cake up and down and round about, and the weaver left his work and joined in the chase, but the oat cake was too lively for them. Every time they thought they had it, it slipped through their fingers as though it were buttered.
“Throw your yarn over it and snare it,” cried the weaver.
The woman threw her yarn over the oat cake, but the cake tangled up the yarn so that later on it took the woman a good two days to straighten it out again. But the oat cake escaped and rolled out and down the road.
“That’s too lively a place for me to stay,” said the oat cake to itself.
At the next place where the oat cake stopped, a woman was churning.
“Oh, the dear little, pretty little oat cake!” cried she. “I have good thick cream to-day, and plenty of it, and the oat cake will taste good with it.”
“But first you must catch me,” said the oat cake.
It rolled round and round the churn, and the woman ran after it, and in the end she fell against the churn and upset it.