BY
B. HUNT
| The Basket of Eggs |
Chapter XXII Page 175
THE BROKEN BRANCH
THERE was a man in the olden time, and he owned a snug little farm.
What did he do, of a winter's day, only break a great branch off a lone bush for to burn in the fire. A thorn went into his hand and it pierced it through.
"That was a sore jag," says he.
But there was a little grey woman sitting in under the lone bush, and she let a terrible laugh.
There were two of the neighbours seen what occurred, and they passing down through the field. One of them ran away home, but the other, a venturesome lad, came across.
"What are you after doing, my poor fellow ?" says he.
"I am after destroying my hand with a thorn," says the man.
The neighbour allowed there was worse in it nor that.
" Did you hear the grey woman laugh? he inquires.
" There is no woman here," says the other.
"I seen her a while past, and I coming down to your side. She was sitting in under the bush, but now she is gone. When you drove the thorn through your hand she let a lamentable laugh that was worse nor a cry."
The man didn't believe it at all. But the jag in his hand festered up and he died for breaking the branch of the thorn.