"Well, is that Mark?" says she.
"Noo, that ain't," says he. An' he twirled his tail harder, an' awa' he flew.
Well, when har husban' he come in, there was the five skeins riddy for him.
"I see I shorn't hev for to kill you to-night, me dare," says he. "You'll hev yar vittles and yar flax in the mornin'," says he, an' away he goes.
Well, ivery day the flax an' the vittles, they was browt, an' ivery day that there little black impet used for to come mornin's and evenin's. An' all the day the darter, she set a tryin' fur to think of names to say to it when te come at night. But she niver hot on the right one. An' as that got to-warts the ind o' the month, the impet that began for to look soo maliceful, an' that twirled that's tail faster an' faster each time she gave a guess.
At last te came to the last day but one. The impet that come at night along o' the five skeins, an' that said:
"What, hain't yew got my name yet?"
"Is that Nicodemus?" says she.
"Noo, t'ain't," that says.
"Is that Sammle?" says she.