Now Mitchell was a wicked woman, no one could deny it; some even called her a witch. She could never bear to see anyone happy without trying to mar their good fortune.
The people of Priest Weston had gone through hard years and a famine threatened to finish them all. Providence could not let the good suffer through and sent them a magic cow. This cow would give them all the milk they could ever need and never run dry. The villagers danced and sang to celebrate their deliverance. But Mitchell stood close by with a sneer in her eye.
Late one night while everyone slept Mitchell slipped quietly into the byre and untethered that cow of plenty. Silently she stole away, tugging the cow behind her, to her fold in the nearby hills. Up amongst the stones she took an old bucket full of holes and sat to milk the cow. How much milk would she take? She wanted to milk that cow until it dried, and died.
Into the bucket flowed the milk. Out of the holes and onto the marshy ground gushed the milk. The bucket was never full, the cow could not stop giving milk. Mitchell would have her way.
But no, the cow kicked out in its anger and knocked Mitchell clean off her stool. Mitchell fell straight into the milky bog that the fold had become. She was swallowed up and never seen again. The cow jumped over the hills and returned to that place from which it had originally come.
Luckily the people of Priest Weston had been wise. They had made cheese and butter from the milk of the cow. This would last them all winter long until they could gather food again from the surrounding hills.
