off supper-time yet.

"Hasn't thou naught for supper, dame?" said he to his wife.

"Nay, not for a couple of hours yet," said she.

"Ah!" groaned the woodman, "I wish I'd a good link of black pudding here
before me."

No sooner had he said the word, when clatter, clatter, rustle, rustle,
what should come down the chimney but a link of the finest black pudding
the heart of man could wish for.

If the woodman stared, the goodwife stared three times as much. "What's
all this?" says she.

Then all the morning's work came back to the woodman, and he told his
tale right out, from beginning to end, and as he told it the goodwife
glowered and glowered, and when he had made an end of it she burst out,
"Thou bee'st but a fool, Jan, thou bee'st but a fool; and I wish the
pudding were at thy nose, I do indeed."

And before you could say Jack Robinson, there the goodman sat and his
nose was the longer for a noble link of black pudding.

He gave a pull but it stuck, and she gave a pull but it stuck, and they
both pulled till they had nigh pulled the nose off, but it stuck and
stuck.

"What's to be done now?" said he.