“But, I’ll put it to you another way: supposing a man had been where he’d no business i’ t’ night-time, and had catched his foot i’ t’ trap he wor setting for someb’dy else (and that’s a figger o’ speech as Job ’ud say, for there’s things ’at it’s best not to put into words) wouldn’t it be his first thowt to keep mum about t’ accident, till he fun owt ’at it couldn’t be done? I’m putting two and two together, Ambrus, but you may do t’ sum for yoursens.” “You’re in your gifted mood at this minute, Swith’n,” the old man replied with ungrudging admiration, “and well we all see it.” “It’s mebbe lucky for some folks,” continued Swithin, “’at they can crawl home wi’ a sore foot, and not be pinned to t’ ground wi’ a beam on their belly. It’ll happen be a lesson to ’em, but I doubt there’s worse to come.” “I’ll say ‘Amen’ to that, Swith’n,” said Ambrose, “but you munnot brade o’ t’ cat and start licking your mouth afore t’ trap’s oppened.” Before Swithin could reply Bill Holmes, who had more than once sought an opportunity to edge in another word, remarked in an aggrieved tone— “If you weren’t all i’ such a hurry to put your own fillin’s in I sud a’ finished my tale. Swithin isn’t t’ only one ’at can put two and two together. Our Frank picked it out ’at it wor a lame tale, for when he went tul ’is work t’ shop wor locked up, and Keturah ’ad to tak’ t’ bolt an’ chain off t’ ’ouse door afore she could ’and ’im t’ key. Mebbe there’s more nor Swithin can say what that points tul.” “It points to this,” said Swithin who evidently interpreted the feelings of all present, “’at Inman’s a liar when he says he fell on his way tul his work; and if Jagger’s owt about him he’ll set t’ police agate ower t’ top o’ Stalker’s head.” Ambrose shook his head slowly, though the movement was not intended to indicate his personal disapproval. “Maniwel ’ud be again’ you, Swith’n. They say Jagger was as mad as if he’d sat on a nettle; but his fayther’s all for killing fowk wi’ kindness. There’s Baldwin, for a case i’ point. Him and Maniwel’s as thick as two thieves, and they tell me they cahr ower t’ hearthst’n of a night, crackin’ o’ owd times, till it’s a picter. I made a wonderful grand verse about it i’ my head when I wor waiting for sleep i’ t’ night-time, and I thowt for sure I should call it to mind i’ t’ mornin’ but when I woke it wor as clean gone as Baldwin’s gowden sovrins. My memory’s nowt no better nor a riddle, neebours, now ’at I’ve getten into years.” “It’s little use Baldwin is to Jagger,” added one of the company. “By all ’at’s said he doesn’t earn his keep by a long way. He’s goin’ down t’ hill fast, if you ask me.”