The Pharisee consider'd my Dilemma. "This is what I'll doe," it sayz at last. "I'll come to your windowe ev'ry morning an' take the flax an' bring it back spun at night."

"Oh, a hundred thousand thankes!" sayz I. "'Tis a very generous turne you doe me. But then, you know, I have alwaies heard that Pharisees doe wonderful kind thinges and never ask for pay of anie sorte or anie thinge in returne."

"You heerd that, did you?" sayz the little black thinge, a-scritch-scritch-scratching of his armpit. "Well, woman, you heerd wrong." "Oh!" sayz I.

The Pharisee look't at me out of the corners of its little blacke eyes and sayz, "I'll give you three guesses ev'ry night to guess my name an' if you ain't guessed it afore the month's up, Woman, you shall be mine!"

"Well then", sayz I, "I thinke I shall discover it in a month."

"You thinke so, doe you?" sayz the Pharisee and laugh't and twirl'd its taile. "What be the names o' they old dogges?"

"Oh!" sayz I, "That I doe know. Those dogges are called Plato, Socrates and Euclid. Sir John told me."

"Noo, they ain't," sayz the Pharisee, "One on 'em's called Wicked. The other un's Worse an' the third's Worst-of-all. They told me theerselves."

"Oh!" sayz I.

"Happen," sayz the Pharisee with great satisfaction, "you don't know yer own name."

"'Tis Miranda Sloper," sayz I. "… I meane Sowreston."

"Woman," sayz the Pharisee laughing, "You shall be mine."

And he took the flax and flew awaie.

All daye long there waz a kind of twilight in the little room made by the shadowes of leaves that fell over its white walls.

When the twilight in the room waz match't by a twilight in the World outside the Pharisee return'd.

"Good evening, Pharisee," sayz I, "How doe you fare?"

The little blacke thinge sighed. "Kind o' middlin' like. My old ears is queer an' I have a doddy little ache in my foot."

"Tut," sayz I.

"I have brung the skeins," it sayz. "Now, woman, what's my name?

"Is it Richard?" sayz I.

"Noo, it ain't," sayz the little blacke thinge and it twirl'd its taile.

"Well, is it George?" sayz I.

"Noo, it ain't," sayz the little blacke thinge and it twirl'd its taile.

"Is it Nicodemus?" sayz I.

"Noo, it ain't," sayz the little blacke thinge and flew awaie.

Strange to say I did not heare Sir John enter. I did not know he waz there until I spied his long shadowe among the shifting shadowes on the wall. He waz entirelie astonished to see the five skeins of thread.

Every morning he brought me flax and vittles, and whenever he appear'd the blacke dogges seemed full of joy to see him there, but that waz nothing to their Frenzie when the Pharisee came. Then they leap't in great delight and smelled him extremlie as if he were the sweetest rose. I satt thinking of all the names I ever heard, but never did I chuse the right one. Every night the Pharisee brought the spun flax and every night it came closer and closer and twirl'd its taile faster in its Delight. "Woman," it sayz, "You shall be mine." And every night Sir John came and fetched the thread and every night he waz greatly puzzled, for he knew that the three fierce dogges that guarded me obeyed no man but him-selfe.

One daye, towards the end of the month I look't out of my windowe and waz entirelie astonished to see a great many people with sorrowful faces trudging out of Pipers Hall and Dafney's yellow head among them, bent in Teares. Beneathe the great Beech-tree the four Scholars were equally amazed.

"Sir John, Sir John!" cries Mr Aubrey, "Where are all the servants going? Who will take care of Lady Sowreston?" (Sir John had told them I waz sicke.)

Sir John bent low and sayz something to them which I did not heare, and which seem'd to them a great Surprize.

"No, indeed!" sayz Mr Shepreth. Mr Aubrey shook his head.

Dr Foxton sayz gravely, "We are Scholars and Gentlemen, Sir John, we doe not Spinne."

"Truly," sayz Mr Meldreth, "I cannot spinne, but I can make a pie. I read it in a booke. I believe I could doe it. You take flour, cleane Water, some raisins, whatsoever meate you like best and, I thinke, some Egges and then…"

Dr Foxton (who waz once a teacher in a grammar-schoole) hit Mr Meldreth on the head to make him quiet.

After Sir John had gone the Scholars told each other that Pipers Hall had gott very dismal and queer. Perhaps, sayz Mr Shepreth, it is time to goe and take their chances in the wider World againe. But all agreed to wait until Lady Sowreston waz well and all spoke very sweetly of my kindnesse to them. Then Mr Meldreth look't up. "Why!" he sayz, "There is Lady Sowreston at that little window among the leaves!"

"Miranda!" crie the Scholars.

Dr Foxton waved his hatt. Mr Shepreth kiss't his hand to me twenty times, Mr Meldreth putte his hands upon his Heart to shew his devotion and Mr Aubrey smiled chearfully to see my face.

"Good morning, deare Scholars!" I crie, "Have you discouvered the Queen of the Pharisees yet?"

"No," sayz Dr Foxton, "But we have got eightie-four more questions to aske her when she does appeare."

"Are you better, Miranda?" askes Mr Aubrey.

"My Opinion is," sayz I, "that I shall be cured by the end of the month. Meanwhile, deare Scholars, I have had a strange dream which I muste tell you. I dreamt that if a Scholar onlie knew a Pharisee's true name then he could conjure it quite easily."

"Well, Miranda," sayz Mr Aubrey, "many Fairies have secret names."

"Yes but doe you know anie of them?" sayz I.

The Scholars putte their Heads together for Grave Debate. Then they all nodded together.

"No," sayz Mr Aubrey, "We doe not."

Today waz the last daie. Earlie in the morning I look't out of the windowe and sawe a shower of cool rain upon Lickerish Hill that stirr'd all the leaves of the trees. When Sir John brought me flax and vittles I told him what I have seen.

"There are Deer upon Lickerish Hill," sayz Sir John thoughtfully.

'Yes," sayz I, "and many other thinges besides. I remember how when you and I were first married, you used to say that you had no greater pleasure in the world than to goe hunt some wild creature on Lickerish Hill and kille it and then come home and kisse your owne Miranda. And my Opinion is that you should take these goode dogges and let them know againe how grasse smelles. Take your learned guests, Sir John, and goe hunting on Lickerish Hill."

Then Sir John frown'd, thinking that the dogges should still remaine in this little room, for the month waz not yet over. But the breeze that came in through the windowe carried with it the sweet scent of the woods on Lickerish Hill.

In the shelter of the Beech-tree I heard Mr Shepreth tell Mr Aubrey that he waz glad Sir John had so far mended his quarrel with the Scholars that he invited them to goe hunting with him. Dr Foxton haz gott a special Hatt for hunting. He putte it on. Then Sir John and the Scholars and all the grooms gott on their horses and rode out of Pipers Hall with Wicked, Worse and Worst-of-all running on before smelling every thinge.

The rain fell all daie. All daie the new servants that Sir John haz hired muddled their work from not having anie good ancient servant set in authoritie over them to instruct them what to doe. The bread did not rise. The butter did not come in the churne. Knives and sickles were blunted from wrong use. Gates were opened that should be shutt. Cowes and horses gott into the wrong fields; broke fences; trampl'd crops. Some wicked boyes I never sawe before climb'd over the orchard wall and ate the apples, then went home with white sicke faces. All through the house I heard the new servants quarrelling with each other.

It is time for the Pharisee to come and bringe me the spun thread. But he does not come.

Grey rabbits bob and looke about them in the summers-twilight, then creepe into the kitchen-garden to eate our sallade-herbes. Owls hoot in the darkening woods and foxes bark. The last of the light is upon Lickerish Hill. It is time for Sir John to come and kille me. But he does not come.