"What were you doing on the Moor?" I asked. "Nowt, just now. Aw hadn't even th' tyke wi' me. Nor a net, nor trap, nor gun, nor nowt. Aw were just comin' whom. To be sure aw'd takken a short cut across th' Moor, so aw suppose aw wer' trespassin' But they' d no ca' to shooit me for that. But us is fair game. 'Gi' a dog a bad name an' hang him' 's true Gospel. But there's law even for vermin, an' if we cannot get it fro' th' justices--an' weel we know we cannot--we'st tak' it." "Why not have them up?" I suggested. Ephraim snorted contemptuous. "Tak' my advice, Abe. If ever yo' fall out with the devil don't yo go to hell for justice; an' it's th' same thing as a man suspected o' an unlicensed liking for fur an feathers appealing to th' beaks for fair play. Quod 'em fust, an' try 'em afterwards, is their way wi' a Burnplatter." I couldn't help thinking that in nine cases out of ten the method, if somewhat arbitrary, met the merits of the matter, but I did not feel called upon to say as much to Ephraim. "I called at 'The Sun' as I came by," I said, sheepishly. "I didn't know how you might be off for brandy. It's useful in cases of sickness." "I'm very sick, to be sure," said Ephraim with great promptitude, "an' so's Granny, be'nt yo' Granny?" A wintry smile parted the withered lips, and she hobbled to an old oaken cupboard that fitted into a corner of the room, and produced three drinking horns, rimmed with silver--"th' wedding horns," she called them. She produced also a short black pipe, crammed it with tobacco, took a hearty swig at the potent liquor, and sat down before the fire, sucking at her pipe in huge content, and condescending to eye me with much less disfavour than her reception had displayed. "And this," I could not help the repulsive reflection, "is the grandmother of my peerless Miriam!" I rose to go. I itched to ask after Miriam, but somehow the words would not come. I could not place her in that coarse environment. I loathed to think of her as the associate of these abandoned Burnplatters. "I'd be careful how you meddle with those Bradbury's," was my parting counsel to Ephraim. "The law's the law, you know; and 'tis poor work for a horse to kick against the prick of the spur, and just as idle for a man to run his head against a stone wall. I'd give them a wide berth if I were you, Ephraim." "Yo'd turn t' other cheek, I suppose," sneered Ephraim. "But yo' see I'm not a parson's son, an' if I were I could find a text or two more to my thinking than that--'an eye for an eye an' a tooth for a tooth is somewhere i' t' Bible, or I'm mista'en."