‘Dollan, dollan, dash!
Ny smoo ta mee cur ayn,
Ny smoo ta goll ass.’
Sieve, sieve, dash!
The more I put in,
The more there’s going out.
The woman got away while he was trying to fill the sieve, and when he came back to the mill he found it in darkness.
The Fynoderee was working very hard for the Radcliffes, who owned Gordon then. Every night he was grinding their corn for them, and often he would take a hand at the flails. If they put a stack into the barn in the evening and loosed every sheaf of it, they would find it thrashed in the morning, but he would not touch one sheaf of it unless it were loosed. In the summer time he was getting in their hay and cutting their corn.
Many a time the people of the farm were passing the time of day with him. One cold frosty day, big Gordon was docking turnips and he blew on his fingers to warm them.
‘What are thou blowing on thee fingers for?’ said the Fynoderee.