Wick Barrow

In this mound the pixies were said to live, and an old barn close at hand is the last place where they were seen by "Mr. Rawlin's uncle." He heard the sound of threshing, and crept up to the barn to see who was making free with his corn. As he came near he heard voice.
"How i do tweat," said one.
"So thee do tweat, do 'ee?" answered another, "well then, I do tweat and double tweat, looky zee!"
Mr. Rawlins's uncle looked over the half-door, and there were the pixies with their red caps.
"Well done, my little vellows!" he cried, and at that they fled, and have been seen no more.
The story is not unusual, of course, and occurs in connection with other old barns and relatives of other living men elsewhere in the district.

Another less common legend, but one which is found elsewhere in England and Scandinavia alike, is that of a ploughman who was at work in one of the Sidwell fields. As he worked he heard what he took to be a child crying, and lamenting that it had "broken its peel," round the barrow. The "peel" is the long wooden shovel with which the bread is put into the old brick-ovens, but the man went to see if he could find the child, whom he supposed must have wandered from home. He could see no one, but on the side of the mound was the broken peel, which he mended with string, being good natured, and supposing that the child could not be far away. When he left work in the evening he went to see if the peel had been recovered. It was gone, but in its place was a cake hot from the oven of the grateful pixy.

There is no treasure-legend attached to the mound [..] It was said that "beautiful music comes from it of a night," and [..] "that a Dane was buried there." But the most persistent statement concerning the mound was that "if it were digged down by day, it would be put back that night."