‘We couldn’ get another hoss for thee, boy, do what we would, but thou ’ll have to get a hoss of some sort.’
And going down to the parlour he got hold of something, and went out, never saying a word. Coming back to the door after a bit, he said:
‘Come on, boy. I’ll hold her head till thou get on.’
Out goes the tailor, and up, with one whip, on her back, and they go like the very hommers, on and on, over hedges and ditches, till they came to a big brow by a river. It seems they knew the way, night as it was, for they all took it one after another like fun. It was a big jump, though, and when the tailor felt himself flying through the air, his heart jumped to his mouth.
‘Oh Lord, what a jump!’ he said.
The next minute he fell flop in a bog, with the lapboard between his legs, all alone in the dark. Next morning he got up all slaaed with slush, looking like a thing that had been dragged through a gutter, and as quiet as a mouse—the shy he was, every bit of steam took out of him.
Awhile after some of the women were asking him, how did he like it last night, and would he go again? But all they could get out of him was:
‘Aw, naver no more, naver no more!’