But it is a weary road, and hills lie before me which are too steep to be made pleasant even by the sight of sea-birds soaring round the grey cliff-tops; while ere long the road runs inland, as it often does in this part of Yorkshire, where the railways have usurped the coast, and I have consequently nothing else to think of than the stories and traditions of this country, where gnomes and fairies have continued their pranks unchecked almost to the present day. There was one such in those very Mulgrave Woods, which I have but this moment left behind me. Her name was Jeanie; she may be there still for aught I know, but few will go to look for her when they hear what befell one who desired her acquaintance many years ago. He was a farmer in this neighbourhood, and he rode up on horseback to her dwelling, calling her by name. I do not know whether he omitted any title of respect, or whether it was merely the unauthorised attention which enraged the irritable Jeanie. But the fact is that she rushed out in a towering passion and flew at the unlucky farmer with a wand. He spurred his horse and avoided her blow, but she gave him chase, and gained upon him for all the fleetness of his horse; so shuddering and pursued the luckless farmer galloped to a brook, which he leapt in the very nick of time. For Jeanie was upon him, and as the horse rose to the leap, her wand descended on his back, cutting him in two, so that Jeanie retained his hind-quarters on her side the water, while the farmer with the head and forelegs fell on the safe side of the flowing stream, which fairies cannot cross. It was a narrow escape, and one may understand why it is that when the clashing of the bittles which Jeanie and her fellow bogles use in washing their linen at Claymore Well is heard echoing down the dales, the peasants will not interfere nor attempt to see what the demons are about (Norway 144-146).