At first ’t was mighty fine for Tom; he’d nought to do and good pay for it; but by-and-by things began to grow vicey-varsy.  If the work was done for Tom, ’t was undone for the other lads; if his buckets were filled, theirs were upset; if his tools were sharpened, theirs were blunted and spoiled; if his horses were clean as daisies, theirs were splashed with muck, and so on; day in and day out, ’t was the same.  And the lads saw Yallery Brown flitting about o’ nights, and they saw the things working without hands o’ days, and they saw that Tom’s work was done for him, and theirs undone for them; and naturally they begun to look shy on him, and they wouldn’t speak or come nigh him, and they carried tales to the master and so things went from bad to worse.

For Tom could do nothing himself; the brooms wouldn’t stay in his hand, the plough ran away from him, the hoe kept out of his grip.  He thought that he’d do his own work after all, so that Yallery Brown would leave him and his neighbours alone.  But he couldn’t—­true as death he couldn’t.  He could only sit by and look on, and have the cold shoulder turned on him, while the unnatural thing was meddling with the others, and working for him.

At last, things got so bad that the master gave Tom the sack, and if he hadn’t, all the rest of the lads would have sacked him, for they swore they’d not stay on the same garth with Tom.  Well, naturally Tom felt bad; ’t was a very good place, and good pay too; and he was fair mad with Yallery Brown, as ’d got him into such a trouble.  So Tom shook his fist in the air and called out as loud as he could, “Yallery Brown, come from the mools; thou scamp, I want thee!”

You’ll scarce believe it, but he’d hardly brought out the words but he felt something tweaking his leg behind, while he jumped with the smart of it; and soon as he looked down, there was the tiddy thing, with his shining hair, and wrinkled face, and wicked glinting black eyne.

Tom was in a fine rage, and he would have liked to have kicked him, but ’t was no good, there wasn’t enough of it to get his boot against; but he said, “Look here, master, I’ll thank thee to leave me alone after this, dost hear?  I want none of thy help, and I’ll have nought more to do with thee—­see now.”

The horrid thing broke into a screeching laugh, and pointed its brown finger at Tom.  “Ho, ho, Tom!” says he.  “Thou ’st thanked me, my lad, and I told thee not, I told thee not!”

“I don’t want thy help, I tell thee,” Tom yelled at him—­“I only want never to see thee again, and to have nought more to do with ’ee—­thou can go.”

The thing only laughed and screeched and mocked, as long as Tom went on swearing, but so soon as his breath gave out—­