"But where are you going?" I asked. "And when and where are we to start looking for Miriam. Have you any notion what can have come of her, and what in heaven's name do you want with a horse and cart?" "Thee do as aw tell thee, an' ax me no questions Aw'm stalled o' hearin' 'em." And with this and throwing to Mary, by way of thanks, I suppose, the curt remark that he'd tasted "waur collops," Daft Billy made for the door. "But what are _we_ to do?" I cried. "Yo're to ca'er quiet an' howd that silly tongue if tha can," he said gruffly. "But if yo'll tak' my advice yo'll just ger off to Mitchell Mill an' set abaat yo'r work as if nowt had happened. An' if onny body comes speerin' after Miriam, just yo' know nowt. But ha' that horse an' cart ready an' them vittles." And he shambled away. "Waur collops, indeed!" cried Mary. "Weel, of all the manners. Weel, he sud know. Someb'dy 'll ha' to go short for this, aw know, an' God send nob'dy fails sick i' this house this monny a day, for there's nowt but rinsin's left i' th' bottle. Aw'll th' same, aw reckon he's a method i' his madness. He's getten a clue o' some sort, or aw'm sore mista'en. So off wi' yo' to th' mill, an' aw'll sna' such a supper for that ugly lookin' customer as 'll stuff even a Burnplatter up to th' chin. It's more sense, onnyroad, nor wanderin' ovver th' moors, which lookin' for a needle i' a bottle o' hay wouldn't be in it, aw reckon." Before midnight Daft Billy returned, as he had promised. Jim and I were ready, for starting. The horse, Dobbin, was in the shafts, and we had lined the bottom of the cart with sacks partly filled with scoured wool. We had a lanthorn, and each of us carried a stout stick. We had no more notion than the man in the moon what our destination might be, but Billy enlightened us whilst he ate and drank. He pulled from his pocket something that he handed to me. "Han yo' ivver seen that thinkum' afore?" he asked. It was the betrothal ring I had given to Miriam! "Where in the name of goodness did you get this?" I exclaimed. "Then it's th' same," concluded Billy. "I thowt it were." "But where…?" "Amnot aw tellin' yo'. Pass th' ale. Yo'll happen know th' 'Moorcock'?" "Of course I know th' 'Moorcock.' Everybody knows it--where the Bradburys live, and where, by all accounts, Eph. o' Burnplatt's lives now." "The same spot. Well, oo's theer." "Miriam there!" Billy nodded composedly. "But how…" I began. "Aw dunnot know. But oo's theer. Locked up i' th' barn. Aw went up theer to-day on th' off chance. Aw ca'ed for summat to sup. Eph. were theer an' th' owd felly an' Tom. They'd been fratchin' abaat summat, an' owd Bradbury an' Tom seemed to ha' their knife into Eph. abaat summat. Aw sat an' aw supped an' aw smoked an' aw gay' Eph. owt he wanted i' th' liquor line. Yo'll owe me a bonny penny for what aw'n lain out i' spirits on this job." "But Miriam, Miriam."