gran'ther, Avi' lang white hair, an' a lang white beardie, all cotted an' tangled together; limpelty-lobelty, an' a gowned i' gray, while tha could scarce see un thruff tha mist, an' a come wi' a sound o' rinnin' watter, an' a sough o' wind, an' laughin' like tha pyewipe screech. Tha wor none so skeered on Tiddy Mun like tha boggarts an' such hawiver. A worn't wicked an' tantrummy like tha watter-wives; an' a worn't white an' creepy like tha Dead Hands. But natheless, 'twor sort o' shivery like when tha set round tha fire, to hear the screechin' laugh out by the door, passin' in a skirl o' wind an' watter; still tha only pulled in a bit nigher together, an' lispit wi' a keek ower tha shouther, "'Arken to Tiddy Mun!"
Mind ye, tha au'd Mun hurted none, nay, a wor real good to un at times. Whan tha year wor geyan wet, and tha watter rose i' tha marshes, while it creepit up to the doer-sill, an' covered tha pads, come tha fust New Moon, tha feyther an' mither, an' a' tha brats, ud go out i' tha darklins, an' lookin' ower the bog, called out together, thoff mappen a bit skeered an' quavery like:
"Tiddy Mun, wi'-out a name,
tha waiters thruff! "
an' all holdin' on togither an' tremblin', a'd stan' shakin' an' shivering while tha heerd tha pyewipe screech 'cross tha swamp; 'twor tha au'd Mun's holla! an'i'tha morn, sure 'nough, tha watter ud be doun, an' tha pads dry. Tiddy Mun a done tha job for un.
What's that? Ay' a called 'un Tiddy Mun, for a wor none bigger 'n a three year's bairn, but a hadn't rightly no sort of a name—a niver had none. Someday a'll tell thee how that comed.
So's a wor sayin'. Tiddy Mun dwelt i' tha watter-holes, an' noo tha Dutchies wor a emptyin' 'em out, while a wor dry as a two year au'd Motherin cake—an' thou'll no take much o' that. Hast heard tha au'd rhyme, as says:
