'Th' chaps as hed howd stopped a bit an' lukt raand, but th' deead chap's feythur shouted, "Come on, lads, or wist be late, an' th' paason waynt berry;" so they piked off, but no sooner hed they getten' i' th' street nor a lad i' th' craad cried out, "Heigh, chaps, luk at th' black cock { 34} on th' top o' th' coffin," an' sure enough theer it wor. One o' th' beerers said directly as they'd enough to carry wi'out ony passingers, an' up wi' his fist an' knockt it off, but it wer on ageean in a minit, an one bi' one they o' hed a slap at it, but every time it wer knockt off back it flew to it' place at th' deead mon's feet, so at last th' owd mon give th' word of command, an' off they startit wi' th' looad. Th' craad geet bigger afooar they reached th' owd country church wheer he hed to be berried, an' th' fowk geet a throwin stooans at th' black bird, an' hittin it wi' sticks an' shaatin at it, but it stuck theer like a fixter.
'After a while we reached th' graveyart, an' th' paason come deawn th' road fray th' church door to meet th' coffin, an' he wer just baan to start th' service when he see th' bird an' stopped.
'"What han yo' got theere?" he says, lukin varra vext, for he thowt some marlock wer gooin on. "What han yo' theere, men?"
'Th' owd feythur stepped forrut an' towd him what hed happent, an' as nooan on 'em could freetun it off it peeark naythur wi' sticks or stooans or sweearin.
'"It's a strange tale," said th' vicar, "but we moant hev no brids here! Yo' fowk keep eaut o' th' graveyart nobbut thuse as is invitet to th' funeral! I'll settle him for yo!" an' so sayin he grabbed howd o' th' cock, an' walked o'er th' graves wi' it to a place wheer th' bruk run under th' hedges, an' then he bent deawn o' th' floor an' dipped th' bird i'th' watter, an' held it theer for abaat a quarter ov an hour.
'No sooner had he getten up, heawever, nor th' brid flew up eaut o' th' watter quite unhort, an' hopped o'er th' grass to th' coffin an' peearkt ageean as if nowt hed happent.
'Th' vicar lukt varra consarnt for a while, an' skrat his yed as he staret at th' fowk.
'Theer's summat not reet abaat that brid,' he said, 'but that's no rayson why we shouldn't bury th' deead!' an' he pottert off toart th' grave, an' th' beerers carriet th' coffin to th' side, an' th' sarvice wer gone through, wi' th' bird harkenin every word like a Christian.