There was once a woman who lived with her son Jock, and one day she said to him, ‘It’s time you stopped being lazy! Get yourself out of the house and do something to help me.’

‘Awright,’ Jock said. ‘I’ll do that.’

Away he went and hunted for a job. Eventually, he came across a packman who said, ‘I’ll give you a needle if you carry my pack all day.’

Jock did just that.  He carried the pack and received a needle, and on his way home he found a patch of ferns and cut a bundle. Inside his bundle of ferns, he safely buried the needle. 

‘So son, what have you been up to today?’ his mother said when he got home. 

‘I worked for a packman,’ said Jock. ‘I carried his pack all day, and he gave me a needle.’ Jock threw his bundle of bracken on the table. ‘It’s among these!’ 

‘You daftie!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘You should have stuck it in your bonnet.’ 

Minding his mother’s wisdom, Jock set out for work the next day, where he found a man carrying plough socks. 

‘Help me with these socks and I’ll let you have one away with you,’ the man said. 

Dutifully, Jock helped to carry the socks all day. At night, he took the one that was promised and stuck it in his bonnet. 

On the way home that night, Jock paused for a drink out of the burn, and the sock fell out of his bonnet and into the burn, sinking to the bottom where it disappeared. 

‘So son, what have you been up to today?’ his mother asked when he got home. 

‘I helped a man  carry plough socks,’ he said. ‘And he gave me one away. I put it in my hat, like you said I should, but it fell in the burn on my way home.’ 

‘You daftie!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘You should have tied a string to it and trailed it behind you!’ 

Minding his mother’s wisdom, Jock set out for work the next day, where he found a butcher. 

‘If you be my servant today, I’ll give you a leg of mutton,’ the butcher said. 

All day Jock helped the butcher with his work, and at night he tied a string to his leg of mutton and trailed it behind him all the way home.

‘So son, what have you been up to today?’ his mother asked when he got home. 

‘I helped the butcher,’ Jock said. ‘And he gave me this leg of mutton.’ 

‘Why’s it tied to a string, you daftie?’ his mother exclaimed. ‘You should have carried it on your shoulder!’ 

Minding his mother’s wisdom, Jock set out for work the next day, where he found a horse-dealer. 

‘Help me with my horses, boy, and I’ll let you have one,’ said the horse dealer. 

After a day working with the horse dealer, Jock took the horse he had been given and tied its feet. He tried and tried but could not hoist the beast onto his shoulder, so he left it at the roadside. 

‘So son, what have you been up to today?’ his mother asked when he got home. 

‘I helped a horse dealer,’ Jock said. ‘And he gave me a horse, but I couldn’t carry it on my shoulder so I had to leave it at the side of the road.’

‘You daftie!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘Could you not have ridden it?’ 

Now, down the village there was a young woman who was very sad. Nothing could lift her from her sombre mood, and so her father promised that whoever could make her laugh would get to marry her. On the day where Jock just so happened to be working for the milkman, and promised a cow in payment, the young woman just so happened to be sitting by her window, looking out. Who should come flying down the street on the back of a cow, but Jock? The woman burst into uncontrolled laughter at the sight, and soon she and Jock were married.

They had a marvellous wedding, with a great feast. All of the food was delicious, but Jock was particularly fond of the honey. After the festivities were wrapped up and Jock and his new wife sat with the priest by the fire, Jock turned to them and said, ‘Oh what I’d give for some of that honey from the feast.’ 

‘I think there might still be some in the honeypot!’ his wife said. ‘Go have a look.’

So up Jock got, grabbed the honey jar and shoved his hand into it. Yes! There was still honey left! Only Jock found that his hand was stuck fast. ‘My hand!’ he cried. ‘It’s suck!’ 

‘Quick, smash it on the hearth!’ his wife said.

Jock, not being at all mindful of the drowsy priest who slept with his head against the chimney breast, smashed the honeypot on what he believed was the hearth… only it was the priest’s head. 

The priest awoke with a roar and Jock took off as fast as he could down the stairs and out to the  beehives to hide. Just as Jock had hidden himself among the hives, some thieves came to steal them away, and they tumbled the hives and Jock all into their plaid. 

Off they set, and Jock did not say a word until they reached the burn, where one of the thieves stopped to pick up a lost bonnet. ‘Oh look! He cried ‘I’ve found me a bonnet!’

Jock was elated – his lost bonnet! He cried out from the plaid, ‘That’s mine!’ 

The thieves took fright, and thought they carried the devil on their backs, and so they threw the hives – alongside Jock – into the burn, where there Jock and the bees together drowned. And that was the end of Jock.

Adapted from Robert Chambers’ Popular Rhymes, Fireside Stories and Amusements of Scotland