“Eh, deary me!  What I had to thole that day!  I was flaid that if he had a drop too mich he’d happen lose his footing on the plank-bridge at the town-end, and then the spate would tak him off his feet and drown him.  I offered to walk wi’ him down to the public and bide wi’ him while he wanted to come back; but he said he reckoned he were owd enough to do wi’out a nuss-maid and told me to mind my own business.  Well, twelve o’clock came, and when I saw Owd Jerry coming back to his dinner I were that fain I could have kissed him, though he’d a five-days’ beard on his face.

“When dinner were ower Mike told our Amos that he mun fetch in the stirks that were out on the moors on the far side o’ Wharfe.  The weather were that bad he doubted they’d come to no good if they were out all neet.  So Amos set off about half-past two, and, efter I’d weshed up and sided away I sat misen down i’ the ingle-nook and mended the stockings.  And there was Owd Jerry set on the lang-settle anent me.  There was no sign on his face of a deeing man, but ivery minute the load on my mind grew heavier.  Eh, man, but it were a queer game the deevil played wi’ me that day, a queer, mocking game that I’ll niver forget so lang as there’s breath left i’ my body.  Leastways that’s what I thought at the time, but I’ve learnt by now that it weren’t the deevil; it was the Almighty punishin’ me for eatin’ o’ the Tree o’ Knowledge.

“Fower o’clock came, and I got tea ready.  The childer came back frae school, and then Mike came, and the first thing he axed was if Amos had gotten back wi’ the stirks.  So I said:  ’No, he’s noan gotten back yet awhile.’  My mind were so taen up wi’ Owd Jerry and the ash-riddling that I’d forgotten that Amos was away on the other side o’ Wharfe.  So Mike for all he was weet to the skin, set off to look for Amos.  I gave Owd Jerry and the childer their tea, but I wouldn’t sit down wi’ ’em misen, but kept going to the windey to see if Mike and Amos were coming wi’ the stirks.  I looked out, happen six or seven times, and there was nobody on the road; but at last I set een on Mike and other lads frae the farms round about.  They were carrying somebody on a hurdle.”

For a moment Grannie interrupted her story to wipe away the tears that were now rolling down her cheeks.  In a flash I realised what was to be the tragic close of her tale, and I tried to spare her the details.  But she refused to be spared, and, forcing back the tears, went on to the bitter end.

“Aye, aye, thou’ll happen have guessed who was on the hurdle.  It was Amos; he’d lossen his footing on the stepping-stones going across Wharfe, and the spate had carried him downstream and drowned him.  It wasn’t Jerry’s clog-print on the ashes, it was Amos’s; and the Lord had taen away my eldest barn frae me because I’d etten o’ the Tree o’ Knowledge.”

II.  Janet’s Cove