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Myn broer Gaetse fangde altyd fûgeltsjes, en dy makke der dan dea. Op in kear sei mem tsjin him: Jonge, jonge, dû krigest der nochris fan. De duvel draeit dy nochris de nekke om.
It gebeurde op in ljochtmoanne-joun dat Gaetse der op út gong. Mar even letter kom er werom, deabinaud.
Hwat is der nou oan, jonge? frege ús mem.
Der stie in gedaente achter de...
nl.verhalenbank.15881
Der wie in man dy hie toarst. Hy trof in frou, dy siet krekt to melken.
"Mei 'k hwat molke ha?" frege er.
"Né", sei de frou.
Doe draeide de koe de kop om en sei: "Jawol, jow dy man molke."
Doe woarde dy frou kjel en joech him molke.
nl.verhalenbank.23919