"Well, Miriam, you know," began Ruth. "Aye, Miriam," I cried, and turned myself in bed so unguardedly that all the pains of hell gat hold upon me, as it says in the Book, or so it seemed to me for an excruciating moment or two. "Aye, Miriam?" "Sakes alive," cried Ruth, "them browies! Th' fat 'll be boiling over into th' fire. Miriam 'll wait, but good beef dripping on a hot fire 'll wait neither for man nor maid," and Ruth whisked out of the chamber with all her sail on. I tried to shrug my shoulders as I glanced at Jim, as though by a shrug I would convey to him what sort of treatment he might anticipate for himself in the days to come; but a sharp twinge warned me to lie quiet. There was silence between us, whilst Jim shredded some thin twist, drawing a dirty clay out of his fob and eyeing it longingly. "I think I'll go and ha' a reek o' baccy in th' kitchen, I can put mi yead up th' flue," he said, sheepishly. "You can smoke here," I said curtly. "And look here, Jim, tell me what sort of a tale's running the country about this hurt of mine." "There's all mak's," said Jim. "Aw nivver knew so mich to do i' my life abaat a bit o' a cut 'at ony chap could get if he gate into a scrap wi one o' them Irish haymakers 'at come over i' th' hay-time. Aw'm all for th' bare nieve missen, wi' a bit o' a clog toe thrown in as an extry; but th' Irish 'll use a knife on a pinch. But if yo'd be blown up wi' gunpowther there couldn't ha' bin more doment. For one thing, there's bin at least hauf a dozen special prayer meetin's at th' Pole here, an' on your account, an' th' prayers o' th' congregation ha' been specially requested for our brother Abe 'at lies stricken unto death. Aw suppose there'll be a thanksgiving sarvice nah tha'rt on th' mend. Then th' constable fro' Marsden has bin nosin' raand. He's bin uncommon civil to me, an' stooid a quart or two, but aw'n bin mum. For one reason, yo' see, aw knowed nowt, tho' yo' mun be sewer aw hannot tell'd him so, an noan likely to as long as free quarts is goin'. If owt leaks aat, it'll be Enoch Hoyle's tellin'. He's fair longin' for another Court do. He were so set up wi' hissen ower th' way yo' bested th' Bradbury's o'er Ephraim's job 'at he's just hitchin' for another innin's." "By the by," I asked, "where is Ephraim?" "Ax me another," quoth Jim, eyeing me sideways. "He's vanished. Ne'er been heard on sin' New Year's Eve, same neet yo' were set on. Some folk's puttin' this an' that together. But aw'm not for speerin'." "Well, don't, Jim, there's a good lad. An' shut Enoch's mouth if you can. I've my reasons. Ah, here's Ruth with th' browies, an' I'm mortal hungry, and as dry as a lime kiln."