'Aal I could hear was that he had been knocked doon biv a runaway galloway pony that a lad called Harry Nicholson used to drive. Harry, ye must ken, was a bit weak iv his intellectuals, hevin' been born iv an ower great hurry like before his bit intellect had had time ti ripen, through his mother's gettin' a gliff at an accident that had happened her man doon the pit. 'Well, Harry was a driver, as I said, an' he an' the galloway was comin' doon an incline wiv a full tub, an' the galloway, hevin' bolted, dragged the tub off the lines, an' came blindly tearin' along this side an' that smash up inti Jack as he rounded an awkward corner. He was fearfu' knocked aboot when he was picked up, they said, his head bashed in bi the tub's wheels, an' there he lay, dead as mutton. 'The crowner comes doon an' sits on the body, an' the jury bring it in "Death by mis'dventure" slap off, bein' iv a hurry likelies ti get oot for their dinners, an' there the whole thing would have ended wiv a buryin' an' a gettin' up mevvies ov a bit subscription fer his missus an' the bairn; ay, that's hoo it would have ended up had it not been for "the Heckler." 'I wasn't allowed oot by the doctor, sae I was just forced to think it oot aal maa lane--mevvies havin' my eyes blindfolded helped us a bit; anyways, I lay there quiet i' bed an' found I could think it aal oot like Gladstone; ay, an' I tell thoo that Gladstone an' Horbert Spencor together cudn't have thought harder than I did at that period o' time, nor have pieced the puzzle together bettor than us. It sounds like a bit brag, mevvies, but it isn't, by Gox! it's just the naked truth. 'Well, there I lay between the sheets wi' my "linin's" on, detarmined that if there had been any foul play nowt but death should stop us frae findin' it oot. First thing I does is ti get the wife ti ask Harry Nicholson in ti tea wiv us, so as ti hear aal aboot hoo it happened. 'Well, efter he has been well filled oot wi' tea, an' spice loaf, an' jam an' aal, I gets him ti tell the whole story, an' then I axes him a few supernumerary questions. '"Thoo'll ken 'Tom the scholar?'" I axes him--"him that's a stoneman doon the pit, an' gans in for spiritualism an' sich like for his hobby an' pastime?" "Ay," he says, "I ken him nicely. Wey, I been at some ov his 'seeantics,' or whativvor it is he calls them, an' I have the makin' ov a fine 'meejum,'" he says, "for I can parsonate folks ov aal kinds, males an' females, wivoot any distinction o' sexes." '"Ay!" says I, interruptin' him wiv a sort ov admirin' surprise i' my tone o' voice, "can thoo, noo? Wey, thoo's a clivvor one, that's what thoo is." '"Ay," says he, quite enlarged at the thought, "an' there's some folk says that I isn't quite right i' the head, but they couldn't parsonate Alexander the Great--him that the sword-dancers sing aboot--like as I can. Could they, noo?"