“‘Nay, thou mun bury t’ pig, an’ do without thy bit o’ bacon,’ he says, and there was summat i’ t’ way he gave his orders that fair bet me.  I went all o’ a dither, while I hardly knew if I were standin’ on my heels or my heead.  But t’ lad were as cool as a cucumber all t’ while; he folded his arms an’ looked at me wi’ his green eyes, an’ just said nowt.  Eh! but ‘twere gey hard to mak’ up my mind what to do.  I looked at t’ pig, an’ if iver I’ve seen a pig axin’ to have his life spared it were yon; but then I looked at t’ lad, an’ his eyes were as hard as two grunstones; there was no gettin’ round t’ lad, I could see.  So at lang length I gav’ in.  I killed t’ pig and I buried him same as I’d buried t’ potate.

“When I gat home I said nowt to t’ missus about t’ pig, for I couldn’t let on that I’d buried it; shoo’d have reckoned I were a bigger fooil nor shoo took me for.  Shoo gav me a sup o’ poddish for my supper, an’ all t’ time I were eytin’ it I kept thinkin’ o’ t’ fried ham that I’d missed, an’ I were fair mad wi’ misen.  I went to bed, but I couldn’t get to sleep nohow.  You see, I’d bin plagued wi’ mowdiewarps up i’ t’ ‘lotment; they’d scratted up my spring onions an’ played Hamlet wi’ my curly greens.  An’ then all of a sudden I bethowt me that t’ mowdiewarps would be sure to find t’ pig an’ mak quick-sticks o’ him afore t’ mornin’.  Eh!  I gat that mad wi’ thinkin’ on it that I couldn’t bide i’ bed no longer.  I gat up ‘thout wakkin’ t’ missus, an’ I crept downstairs i’ my stockin’ feet, an’ went to t’ coil-house wheer I kept my spade.  I were boun to dig up t’ pig an’ bring him home afore t’ mowdiewarps sud find him.  But when I’d oppened coil-house door, what sud I see but a pair o’ green eyes glowerin’ at me out o’ t’ darkness.  I were that flaid I didn’t know what to do.  I dursn’t set hand to t’ spade, an’ efter a minute I crept back to bed wi’ them green eyes followin’ me, an’ burnin’ hoils i’ my back same as if they’d bin two red-hot coils.  Sooin as cockleet com, I gat up, dressed misen an’ set off for t’ ’lotment, ’an by t’ Mess! what does ta reckon was t’ first thing I saw?”

“Had the pig come to life again?” I asked in wonder.

“Nay, ‘twere better nor that,” replied Abe.  “I’ t’ spot wheer I’d buried t’ pig an’ buried t’ potate afore that, somebody had belt a house, ay, an’ belt it all i’ one neet.  It had sprung up like a mushroom.  So I went up to t’ house an’ looked in at t’ windey, an’ by Gow! but it were my house an’ all.”

“How did you know that it was your house?” I asked.

“Well, you see,” Abe rejoined, “I could tell by t’ furnitur that were in it.  There was our kitchen-table that I’d bowt at t’ sale when t’ missus an’ me were wed, an’ t’owd rockin’-chair set agean t’ fire; ay, an’ t’ pot-dogs on t’ chimley-piece an’ my father’s an’ muther’s buryin’-cards framed on t’ walls; ’twere all plain as life.”

“So the lad with the green eyes had carried away your house in the night and set it down on your allotment?”