ybody knows what it is to riddle
ashes."

"Aye, but ash-riddling on the hearthstone, the neet afore St Mark's
Day?"

Here was something unfamiliar, and I readily confessed my ignorance. It
was evident, too, that Grannie's mind could only find relief by
disburdening itself of the weight which lay upon it, so I no longer
attempted to direct her thoughts into a new channel.

"It was 1870," she began, "the year o' the Franco-German War, that I
first heerd tell o' ash-riddling, and it came about this way. My man's
father, Owd Jerry, as fowks called him, were living wi' us then; he was
a widower, and well-nigh eighty year owd. He'd been a despert good
farmer in his time, but he'd gotten owd and rheumatic, and his temper
were noan o' the best. He were as touchous as a sick barn, if aught went
wrang wi' him. Well, one day i' lambing-time, he were warr nor he'd iver
been afore; he knew that I were thrang wi' all maks o' wark, but nowt
that I could do for him were reet. So at last, when I'd fmished my
milking i' the mistal, I got him to bed, and then I sat misen down by
the fire and had a reet good roar. I were tired to death, and wished
that I'd niver been born. Iverything had gone agee that day: butter
wouldn't coom, Snowball had kicked ower the pail while I was milking
her, and, atop o' all that, there was grandfather wi' his fratching
ways.

"I were sat cowered ower the fire, wi' my face buried in my hands, when
my man came in and axed what were wrang wi' me. At first I wouldn't tell
him, but enow he dragged it all out o' me, and in the end I was glad on
't. But he nobbut laughed when I told him about Owd Jerry, and he said
he'd allus been like that wi' women fowks; 'twere his way o' getting
what he wanted. I got my dander up at that, and said he'd have to get
shut o' his fratching if he lived wi' us."

"'I reckon he'll noan mend his ways,' said Mike, 'now he's close on
eighty.' So I said if that were the case it would be a good thing for
the peace o' the family when he were putten under grund. Yon were
gaumless words, and bitter did I rue iver having spokken 'em. But Mike
nobbut laughed at what I said. "'Putten under grund!' said he. 'Nay,
father will live while he's ninety, or happen a hunderd; he's as tough
as a yak-stowp.'

"'He'll do nowt o' the sort,' I answered; 'and he wi' a hoast in his
thropple like a badly cow. I sudn't be surprised if he were dead by
Chrissamas.'

"'We can soon tell if there's ony truth