“Aye,” says she, and reaches out her hand to it.  But the wee bannock just dodged.

“Man!” says she, “yon’s a clever wee bannockie!  Catch it, man!  Catch it if you can.”

But the wee bannock just dodged.  “Cast the clue at it, woman!” shouted the weaver.

But the wee bannock was out at the door, trundling away over the hill like a new tarred sheep or a mad cow!

And it trundled away till it came to a cowherd’s house where the goodwife was churning her butter.

“Come in by,” cried the goodwife when she saw the wee bannock all crisp and fresh and tasty; “I’ve plenty cream to eat with you.”

But at this the wee bannock began dodging about, and it dodged so craftily that the goodwife overset the churn in trying to grip it, and before she set it straight again the wee bannock was off, trundling away down the hill till it came to a mill-house where the miller was sifting meal.  So in it ran and sate down by the trough.

“Ho, ho!” says the miller.  “It’s a sign o’ plenty when the likes of you run about the country-side with none to look after you.  But come in by.  I like bannock and cheese for supper, so I’ll give ye a night’s quarters.”  And with that he tapped his fat stomach.

At this the wee bannock turned and ran; it wasn’t going to trust itself with the miller and his cheese; and the miller, having nothing but the meal to fling after it, just stood and stared; so the wee bannock trundled quietly along the level till it came to the smithy where the smith was welding horse-nails.

“Hullo!” says he, “you’re a well-toasted bannock.  You’ll do fine with a glass of ale!  So come in by and I’ll give you a lodging inside.”  And with that he laughed, and tapped his fat stomach.

But the wee bannock thought the ale was as bad as the cheese, so it up and away, with the smith after it.  And when he couldn’t come up with it, he just cast his hammer at it.  But the hammer missed and the wee bannock was out of sight in a crack, and trundled and trundled till it came to a farm-house where the goodman and his wife were beating out flax and combing it.  So it ran in to the fireside and began to toast itself again.

“Janet,” says the goodman, “yon is a well-toasted wee bannock.  I’ll have the half of it.”

“And I’ll take t’other half,” says the goodwife, and reached out a hand to grip it.  But the wee bannock played dodgings again.

“My certy,” says the wife, “but you’re spirity!” And with that she cast the flax comb at it.  But it was too clever for her, so out it trundled through the door and away was it down the road, till it came to another house where the goodwife was stirring the scalding soup and the goodman was plaiting a thorn collar for the calf.  So it trundled in, and sate down by the fire.

“Ho, Jock!” quoth the goodwife, “you’re always crying on a well-toasted bannock.  Here’s one!  Come and eat it!”