“High, Jerry,” quoth Georgie.  “We were forced tull it, neighbor, for that black boggart torments us so that there was no rest night or day for it.  The poor bairns’ stomachs are empty, and the good dame’s nigh dead for it.  So off we go, like th’ field-fares in the autumn—­we’re flittin’, we’re flittin’!”

Now on the wain was a tall, upright churn; as soon as Georgie had ended his speech, the lid of the churn began to clipper-clapper, and who should speak out of it but the boggart himself.  “Ay, Jerry!” said he, “we’re a flittin’, we’re a flittin’, man!  Good-day to ye, neighbor, good-day to ye!  Come and see us soon time!”

“High!” cried Georgie Griggs, “art thou there, thou black imp?  Dang un!  We’ll all go back tull th’ old house, for sure it’s better to bear trouble there than in a new place.”

So back they went again—­boggart and all.

By this you may see, my dear, if you warm an imp by your fire, he will soon turn the whole house topsy-turvy.  Likewise, one cannot get rid of a boggart by going from here to there, for it is sure to be in the cart with the household things.

But how did Georgie Griggs get rid of his boggart?  That I will tell you.

He went to Father Grimes, the wise man, who lived on in a little house on the moor.  “Father Grimes,” said he, “how shall I get rid of my boggart?”

Then Father Grimes told him to take this and that, and to do thus and so with them, and see what followed.  So Farmer Griggs went to Hugh the tailor’s, and told him to make a pretty red coat and a neat pair of blue breeches.  Then he went to William the hatter’s, and bade him to make a nice little velvet cap with a bell at the top of it.  Then he went to Thomas the shoemaker’s, and bade him to make a fine little pair of shoes.  So they all did as he told them, and after these things were made he took them home with him.  He laid them on a warm spot on the hearth where the boggart used to come to sleep at night.  Then he and his dame hid in the closet to see what would follow.

Presently came the boggart, whisking here and dancing there, though neither the farmer nor the dame could see him any more than though he had been a puff of wind.

“Heigh-ho!” cried the boggart, “these be fine things for sure.”  So saying, he tried the hat upon his head, and it fitted exactly.  Then he tried the coat on his shoulders, and it fitted like wax.  Then he tried the breeches on his legs, and they fitted as though they grew there.  Then he tried the shoes on his feet, and there never was such a fit.  So he was clad in all his new clothes from top to toe, whereupon he began dancing until he made the ashes on the hearth spin around with him as though they had gone mad, and, as he danced, he sang: 

“Cap for the head, alas poor head! 
 Coat for the back, alas poor back! 
 Breeks for the legs, alas poor legs! 
 Shoen for the feet, alas poor feet! 
 If these be mine, mine cannot be
 The house of honest man, Georgie!”