Well, before that day the tailor was seeing lots of wickedness in the child. When the woman would be out feeding the cows and pigs, he would be hoisting his head up out of the cradle and making faces at the tailor, winking and slicking, and shaking his head, and saying ‘What a lad I am!’
That day the woman wanted to go to the shop to sell some eggs that she had, and says she to the tailor: ‘Hom, man, keep your eye on the chile that the bogh won’t fall out of the criddle an’ hurt himself, while I slip down to the shop.’
When she was gone the tailor began to whistle, low and slow, to himself, as he stitched, the tune of a little hymn.
‘Drop that, Hom Beg,’ said a little harsh voice.
The tailor, scandalised, looked round to see if it was the child that had spoken, and it was.
‘Whush, whush, now; lie quate,’ said the tailor, rocking the cradle with his foot, and as he rocked he whistled the hymn tune louder.
‘Drop that, Hom Beg, I tell ye, an’ give us something light an’ handy,’ said the little fella back to him, middling sharp.
‘Aw, anything at all to plaze thee,’ said the tailor, whistling a jig.
‘Hom,’ said my lad, ‘can thou dance anything to that?’