More Tales of the Ridings | Page 4

as he'd turned other lads an' lasses
afore. Wae's t' heart! but he were in a parlous state, were lile Doed, but
he knew nowt about it for all that. When he felt his heead gettin' mazy,
he consated he were fallin' asleep; his een gat that dazed he couldn't see
t' squirrels no more, an' he thowt he mun be liggin' i' his bed at home
under t' clothes. Then suddenly he bethowt him that he were fallin'
asleep without sayin' his prayers. You see, his mother had larnt him a
prayer, an' telled him he mun say it to hissen every neet afore he gat
into bed. Well, Doed aimed to say his prayer, but t' words had gotten
clean out o' his heead. That made him a bit unaisy, for he were a gooid
lad an' it hooined him to think that he'd forgotten t' words. All that he
could call to mind was an owd nominy that he'd heerd t' lads an' lasses
say when they were coomin' home fra schooil. He reckoned 'twere
more like a bit o' fun nor a prayer, but all t' same, when he couldn't

bethink him o' t' words his mother had larnt him, he started sayin' t'
nominy, an' sang out, as loud as he could:
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lig on.
"He'd no sooiner said t' words when all on a sudden Melsh Dick gav
ower playin', t' squirrels gav ower lowpin', t' bats gav ower fleein'
across t' dub, t' mooin gat behind a gert thunner-cloud, an' t' wood an' t'
watter were as black as a booit. Then there com a scufflin' an' a skrikin'
all ower t' wood. T' squirrels started spittin' an' sweerin' like mad, t'
ullets yammered an' t' wind yowled, an' there was all maks an' manders
o' noises owerheead. Then, efter a minute, t' mooin gat clear o' t'
thunner-pack, an' Doed glowered around. But there was nowt to be
seen nowheer. Melsh Dick was no langer sittin' anent him, an' there was
niver a squirrel left i' t' trees; all that he could clap een on was t' espin
leaves ditherin' i' t' wind an' t' lile waves o' t' dub wappin' agean t' bank.
"Doed was well-nigh starved to deeath wi' cowd an' hunger, an' t' poor
lad started roarin' same as if his heart would breek. But he'd sense enif
to shout for help, an' efter a while there com an answer. His father an' t'
lads frae t' village had bin seekin' him all ower t' wood, and at last they
fan him an' hugged him home an' put him to bed. 'Twere a lang while
afore he were better, an' choose what fowks said, he'd niver set foot i' t'
wood agean without he'd a bit o' witchwood i' his pocket, cut frae a
rowan-tree on St Helen's Day."

Two Letters
Annie was busy at the washtub, and it was her mother, who had come
to live with her and her baby while her husband was at the Front, that
answered the postman's knock and brought in the parcel.
"Annie, here's a parcil thro' France. It'll be thy Jim that's sent it. I can
tell his writin' onywhere, though his hand do seem a bit shaky like."
"What's he sendin' naa, I'd like to know?" asked Annie, in a tone of real
or feigned indifference. "He's allus wearin' his brass on all maks o'

oddments that he's fun i' them mucky trenches, or bowt off uther lads.
Nay, tha can oppen it thisen, muther; my hands is all covered wi' suds."
Annie's mother undid the parcel and took out a large German helmet,
but it somehow failed to arouse much enthusiasm on the part of either
mother or daughter. Jim had already gone far towards converting his
wife's kitchen into an arsenal, and, as Annie said, "there was no end o'
wark sidin' things away an' fettlin' up t' place."
At the bottom of the helmet was an envelope addressed to "Mrs Annie
Akroyd, 7 Nineveh Lane, Leeds," and the mother handed it to her
daughter.
"I'm ower thrang to read it naa," said Annie; "it'll hae to wait while I've
finished weshin'."
"Eh! but tha'll want to know how thy Jim's gettin' on. Happen he'll be
havin' short leave sooin. I'll read it to thee misen."
She opened the envelope and began to read the letter. It ran as
follows:--
"Dear Annie,--I hope this finds you well, as it leaves me at present. I'm
sendin' thee a helmet that I took off a German that I com across i' one o'
them gert sump-hoils that t' Jack Johnsons maks i' t' grund. He were a
fearful big gobslotch, so I