ld do. You see, her mother had gien her a
spinnin'-wheel when shoo were wed, and eh! but shoo were a gooid 'un to
spin. Shoo'd get t' house sided up by ten o'clock, an' then shoo'd set
hersen down to t' wheel. Throp would sam up all t' bits o' fallen wool
that he could find, an' Throp's wife would wesh 'em an' card 'em an'
spin 'em into yarn, an' then shoo'd knit t' yarn into stockin's an' sell
'em at Keighley an' Colne. Shoo were that thrang shee'd sooin getten
shut o' all t' wool that Throp could get howd on, an' then shoo axed t'
farmers to let t' barns out o' t' village go round t' moors an' bring
her t' wool that had getten scratted off t' yowes' backs for ten mile
around. Shoo were a patteren wife, and sooin fowks began to say to one
another: 'I've bin reight thrang to-day; I've bin well-nigh as thrang as
Throp's wife.' So 'thrang as Throp's wife' gat to be a regular nominy,
an' other fowks took to followin' her example; it were fair smittlin'!
They bowt theirsens spinnin'-wheels, an' gat agate o' spinnin', while
there were all nations o' stockins turned out i' Cohen-eead an'
Cornshaw, enough for a whole army o' sodgers. Ay, an' t' women fowks gat
their chaps to join i' t' wark; there were no settin' off for t' public
of a neet, an' no threapin' or fratchin' at t' call-hoils. It was wark,
wark, wark, through morn to neet, an' all on account o' Throp's wife an'
her spinnin'-wheel.

"Well, after a time Cohen-eead had getten that sober an' hard-workin',
t'owd devil began to grow a bit unaisy. He'd a lot o' slates, had t'
devil; there was one slate for iverybody i' Cohen-eead. He'd had t'
slates made i' two sizes, one for t' men an' one for t' women."

"The big slates were for the men and the little slates for the women, I
suppose."

"I'm noan so sure o' that," Timothy rejoined, and his eyes began to
twinkle again. "Well," he continued, "t' devil began to look at t'
slates, an there was onmost nowt written on 'em; nobody had getten
druffen, or illified his neighbour; there was nobbut a two-three grocers
that had bin convicted o' scale-sins. So t' devil sends for t' god o'
flies, and when he were come, he says to him: 'Nah then, Beelzebub,
what's wrang wi' Cohen-eead? There's no business doin' there'; and he
shows him t' slates. So Beelzebub taks t' slates and looks at 'em, an'
then he scrats his heead an' he says: 'I can't help it, your Majesty.
It's Throp's wife; that's what's wrang wi' Cohen-eead.'

"'Throp's wi