ONE Sunday morning, John, the young heir of Lambton Hall, skipped Mass and went fishing in the Wear. No good could come of that, and no good did.

That morning, he hooked only an ugly-looking worm, tossed it with disgust down a well, and promptly forgot about it.

Those were the days of war, and soon the young man left home in search of adventure. While he was gone, the worm grew to an awful size. It slithered out of its narrow well, and wound itself three times* round Penshaw hill. Heroes came to do battle with the worm, but if they cut off its head, the worm joined itself together again.

At last, John Lambton himself returned to find the worm gorging on milk and sheep, and his own father worrying himself into an early grave. As so many brave knights had been powerless against the worm, he went instead to a sibyl,* and begged for advice.