The pear-stealer was caught, and on the first opportunity brought before the magistrates at Thirsk. The presiding magistrate--I think it was Sir John Galway, but am not certain--deemed it advisable to caution John M---- against too free a use of his gun. "You know, my good friend, that a gun loaded with a bullet might have killed the man who stole your pears." "Ah, it might, and it would, but t' gun snecked (kicked) as I were blazin' wi' it." "If the gun had not 'snecked,' as you call it, the bullet would probably have gone into the poor fellow's heart and killed him dead." "I'll tak' care it deean't sneck again," said Old John, who had no scruples against shooting a pear-stealer. Whilst in the parish of Topcliffe I am constrained to relate an anecdote illustrative of Yorkshire shrewdness, though unconnected with Mealy-Face. An old woman--Molly Jakes, we will call her--died, or was thought to have died, and was buried by the parish. A few days after the funeral the vicar was talking to the sexton, when the latter said, drawing the back of his hand across his nose, "Ye thowt old Molly Jakes were deead, sur?" "Dead, dead! bless my soul! of course she was." "Well, mebbe she is neah (now)." "What do you mean? Speak, for heaven's sake!" "Nay, sur, it's nowt! Only I thowt efter I'd thrown the mould in as I heeard her movin' and grum'ling under t' greand (ground)." "You dug her up at once, of course, man?" "Nay," said the sexton, "I know two o' that," casting a knowing look at the parson. "T' parish paid one burying: who was to pay me for digging her up and putting her in ageean, if she died once maire? Besides," said the sexton, drawing his hand back again across his nose, "Old Molly cost t' parish hef-a-croon a week when she war wick (alive). Noo she's felted (hidden) under t' greeand, she costs nowt. If I'd dug her up and she lived ever seah (so) long, what would ha' t' rate-payers 'a said teah (to) me?" John M----, once, when I was in his house, told me a curious tale about himself. He was riding one night to Thirsk, when he suddenly saw passing him a radiant boy on a white horse. There was no sound of footfall as he drew nigh. Old John was first aware of the approach of the mysterious rider by seeing the shadow of himself and his horse flung before him on the high-road. Thinking there might be a carriage with lamps, he was not alarmed till by the shortening of the shadow he knew that the light must be near him, and then he was surprised to hear no sound. He thereupon turned in his saddle, and at the same moment the radiant boy passed him. He was a child of about eleven, with a bright, fresh face. "Had he any clothes on, and, if so, what were they like?" I asked. But John was unable to tell me. His astonishment was so great that he took no notice of particulars. The boy rode on till he came to a gate which led into a field. He stooped as if to open the gate, rode through, and all was instantly dark.