Disclaimer: No need to - this tale is so old it's public property. Mwa ha ha ha ha! Send me all your monies. Or at least more rovings for me to spin.

~Straw to Gold~

First Batt - 2ply - bulky weight

One upon a time there was a farmer that had a single daughter.

His wife had died some time ago, as is often the case in tales such as these, providing him with no other children.

His daughter was hale, strong and an adept hand around the property but the farmer, every evening he attended the pub, was reminded by the conversation of his fellows, that he had no son.

It was not enough that his daughter could throw a cow on her own, shear a sheep almost as fast as her father and could not only bake bread, mend the tractor and belch as loud as the next lad. She was not a boy.
And the fact was a thorn in his heart.

Now it came to pass that of a friday night, after their third or fourth pints, the local pub talk would turn to the latest occurrences on their farms, each striving to out do their fellows in how useful their sons were at the business.
Our farmer generally just sat quiet at these times, unable to contribute about a son and unwilling to sit through the uncomfortable silence that followed any mention of his daughter. Though he had some measure of pride in her ability, for all his disappointment she wasn't a son.
After all when Bill Sprigan's best ewe got stuck in the marsh it was his daughter who got her out, and she'd beaten Tim Mibs at the last post hole-sinking challenge, though no one liked to talk about that one. Least of all Tim.

But hearing about all these young lads, following in their dad's welly-bootsteps increasingly weighed on our farmer and he found himself having to bite his tongue more often.
And so it was, late one friday, when our farmer had had a few more pints than was wise, (having had to endure the sting of yet another son being born to a friend of his, who already, unfairly, had five strapping sons) that when the talk of sons came around he slammed his tankard down on the table and announced, with pride that not only did his daughter strip and clean a tractor engine that afternoon, she'd mucked out the winter barn on her own, without having to be told mind you. "And your lads alway has to be told to and chased to get it finished." and she had darned his socks and also spun half a bushel of good straw into gold.

Worse the wear for drink our farmer stood up with drunken dignity and stated "Who'd would want a son anyway coz they couldn't do that on top of a good days work! M' Daughter easily pizzes on all yer sons" and with that he staggered out of the pub and home.

Most of the farmers took drunken man's boast in a good natured fashion but there were a couple, including Tim Mibs, who had a pair of good-for-nothing sons of his own, who were so insulted by our farmer's words that they decided to organise a come-uppance of the farmer and his brawny daughter.

To be continued...