Tom Snow was a miser and scrooge and they said he still had half of every penny he ever made. Tom was a jolly little man, always a speaking and doffing his danged derby hat. Tom raised goats, three different kinds they were, all for his wife Catherine to make into thread and use for making sweaters, coats and such.

But old Tom had another odd habit; he put bells on all of his critters. “Me bellwethers the goats each with a different tone and the cows and horse; why even me own dogs,” he said. Also he had a small kiln, always trying to make church bells, but they always seemed to crack.

You go by his place on an average day and all you could hear were bells a clanging. High-pitched ones for the chickens and cat, way-low ones for the horses and oxen. Even the dogs knew which tone was which as they took care of the cows and the sheep.

But down the road from old Tom lived three families of the worst shanty Irish. And they did not enjoy the sounds of the bells. One night they got into their cups and snuck up and changed all the bells.

One dog had a deep bell another a high one; the cat's bell was on the cow and the bellwether goat’s horns on the chickens. Old tom got up and heard the noises and by lunch he was running wild across the heath as the odd bells did drive him crazy. So if you ever are near the border and see a name, “Crazy Tom Dale,” you will know exactly where you are.