The Dead Moon.
Long agone, i 'ma gran's toime, th' Car-lan's doun by wor a' in bogs, as thee's heerd tell, mebbe: gra'at pools o' black watter, an' creepin' trickles o' green watter, an' squishy mools as'd soock owt in, as stept on un.
Weel, my gran' used to sa'ay, how, long afwore her toime, tha moon's sel' wor towanst de'ad an' buried i' tha ma-ashes; an' if thee will, a'll tell thee aboot it as she used for to tell me.
Tha moon up yond', shone an' shone to than, jest as she do now, thoff thou moightn't ha' thowt it; an' whan she shone, she loighted oop a' tha bog-pads so's a body cu'd wa'alk aboot, most 's safe as o'days. But when she didna shine, then oot cam' a tha Things 'at dool i' tha Darkness, an' want aboot seekin' to do evil an' harm to all as worna safe beside ther ain he'arths. Harm an' mischance an' mischief: Bogles, an' de'ad Things, an' crawlin' Horrors: tha a' coomed oot o' noights when the moon didna shine.
Weel, it corned so, 'at tha Moon heerd tell on a' this; an' bein' kin' an' good—as she be, surely, a-shoinin' fur us a' noights, 'stead o' takin' her nat'ral rest; she wor main troubled to think o' what went on ahint her back, loike; an' says she: "A'll see fur mysel, a wull; it mebbe, 'at its none so bad 's fo'ak mak' oot."
So sewer 'nuff, come tha month end, doun she stept hapt oop wi' a black cloak, an' a black hood o'wer her yaller shinin' hair; an' straight she went to tha Bog edge, an' looked aboot her. Watter here, an' watter there; wavin' tussocks, an' trem'lin' mools, an' gra'at black snags a' twisted and bent; an' afwore her, a' dark—dark, but the glimmer o' tha stars on tha pools, an' tha loight as comed fro' 's 'ain white feet, stealin' oot o' s black clo'ak. On a went, fair into the mid' o' tha bogs; an' aye lookin' about
