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Updated: May 4, 2025
Instinct impelled me to the latter course, and instinct was right. Late in the afternoon, faint but pursuing, I reached a hill-top village which the map seemed to identify with a certain Cowling Hill, but which was always spoken of as Cohen-eead. I made my way to "The Golden Fleece," and there, in the bar parlour, I met an old man and a merry.
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.
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.
That's what t' blue-bottles had bin sayin' to her all t' time, an' all for nowt. Nay, t'owd devil were a sly 'un, an' knew more about Throp's wife nor all t' blue-bottles i' t' world. So he says to her: 'Keziah' they called her Keziah after her grandmother 'thou's t' idlest dawkin' i' Cohen-eead. When arta baan to get agate o' workin'?"
"That neet there was a storm at Cohen-eead the likes o' which had niver bin seen theer afore. There was thunner an' leetnin', and a gert sough o' wind that com yowlin' across t' moor an' freetened iverybody wellnigh out o' their five senses. Fowks wakkened up an' said 'twere Judgment Day, an' T' Man Aboon had coom to separate t' sheep frae t' goats.
"'Shoo's made fowks i' Cohen-eead that thrang wi' wark they've no time to think o' sins. "'An' what have thy flies bin doin' all t' time? asks Satan. 'They've bin laikin', that's what they've bin doin'. They ought to hae bin buzzin' round fowks' heeads an' whisperin' sinful thowts into their lug-hoils. How mony flies does thou keep at Cohen-eead?
"At lang length he gies him back his book, and he says: 'I sal hae to look into this misen. Throp's wife! I'll sooin sattle wi' Throp's wife. I'll noan have her turnin' Cohen-eead intul a Gardin o' Eden. I reckon I'm fair stalled o' that mak o' place. "So Satan gav out that he were baan for Cohen-eead an' wouldn't be back while to-morn.
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.
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 wife! Throp's wife! says Satan; 'an' who's Throp's wife to set hersen agean me?
At first he remained silent, but after a few moments his blue eyes began to twinkle like stars in the firmament, and then, slapping his knees with both hands, he broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Ay, ay," he said, "I know all about Throp's wife. Shoo lived at Cohen-eead, an' my mother telled me t' tale when I were nobbut a barn."
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