‘“There’s a terrible glisther on to-night,” my Mother said, looking at the fire. “An’ the rain comin’ peltin’ down the chimley!”
‘“Yes,” said my Father, shutting the Bible; “an’ we better get to bed middlin’ soon and let the Lil’ Ones in to a bit of shelter.”
‘So we all got ready and went to bed.
‘Some time in the night my brother wakened me with a:
‘“Sh—ish! Listen boy, an’ look at the big light tha’s in the kitchen!” Then he rubbed his eyes a bit and whispered:
‘“What’s mother doin’ now at all?”
‘“Listen!” I said. “An’ you’ll hear mother in bed, it’s not her at all; it must be the Little Ones that’s agate of the wheel!”
‘And both of us got frightened, and down with our heads under the clothes and fell asleep. In the morning when we got up we told them what we had seen, first thing.
‘“Aw, like enough, like enough,” my Father said, looking at the wheel. “It seems your mother forgot to take the band off last night, a thing people should be careful about, for it’s givin’ Themselves power over the wheel, an’ though their meanin’s well enough, the spinnin’ they’re doin’ is nothin’ to brag about. The weaver is always shoutin’ about their work an’ the bad joinin’ they’re makin’ in the rolls.”
‘“I remember it as well as yesterday—the big light that was at them, and the whirring that was going on. And let anybody say what they like, that’s a thing I’ve seen and heard for myself.”’