‘I can that,’ said my lad. ‘Would thou like to see me dance?’
‘I would,’ said the tailor.
‘Take that oul’ fiddle down, then, Hom, man,’ he said; ‘an’ put “The tune of the Big Wheel” on it.’
‘Aw, I’ll do that for thee, an’ welcome,’ said the tailor.
The fiddle quits its hook on the wall, and the tailor tunes up.
‘Hom,’ said the little fella, ‘before thou begin to play, clear the kitchen for me—cheers an’ stools, everything away—make a place for me to step out to the music, man.’
‘Aw, I’ll do that for thee, too,’ said the tailor. He cleared the kitchen floor, and then he struck up ‘Tune y wheeyl vooar.’
In a crack the little fella bounced from his cradle on to the floor with a ‘Chu!’ and began flying round the kitchen.
‘Go it, Hom—face your partner—heel an’ toe does it. Well done, Hom—more power to your elba, man.’
Hom plays faster and faster, till my lad was jumping as high as the table. With a ‘Chu!’ up goes his foot on top of the dresser, and ‘Chu!’ then on top of the chimney piece, and ‘Chu!’ bang against the partition; then he was half flying, half footing it round the kitchen, turning and going that quick that it put a reel in Hom’s head to be looking at him. Then he was whirling everything round for a clear space, even Hom himself, who by degrees gets up on the table in the corner, and plays wilder and faster, as the whirling jig grows madder and swifter.