"Thought!" the farmer bellowed louder. "Thought--Devil take ye, when ye took yer oath on't. Hulloa! What are ye screwin' yer eye at Mr. Feverel for?--I say, young gentleman, have you spoken to this chap before now?" "I?" replied Richard. "I have not seen him before." Farmer Blaize grasped the two arms of the chair he sat on, and glared his doubts. "Come," said he to the Bantam, "speak out, and ha' done wi't. Say what ye saw, and none o' yer thoughts. Damn yer thoughts! Ye saw Tom Bakewell fire that there rick!" The farmer pointed at some musk-pots in the window. "What business ha' you to be a-thinkin'? You're a witness? Thinkin' an't ev'dence. What'll ye say to-morrow before magistrate! Mind! what you say to-day, you'll stick by to-morrow." Thus adjured, the Bantam hitched his breech. What on earth the young gentleman meant he was at a loss to speculate. He could not believe that the young gentleman wanted to be transported, but if he had been paid to help that, why, he would. And considering that this day's evidence rather bound him down to the morrow's, he determined, after much ploughing and harrowing through obstinate shocks of hair, to be not altogether positive as to the person. It is possible that he became thereby more a mansion of truth than he previously had been; for the night, as he said, was so dark that you could not see your hand before your face; and though, as he expressed it, you might be mortal sure of a man, you could not identify him upon oath, and the party he had taken for Tom Bakewell, and could have sworn to, might have been the young gentleman present, especially as he was ready to swear it upon oath. So ended the Bantam. No sooner had he ceased, than Farmer Blaize jumped up from his chair, and made a fine effort to lift him out of the room from the point of his toe. He failed, and sank back groaning with the pain of the exertion and disappointment. "They're liars, every one!" he cried. "Liars, perj'rers, bribers, and c'rrupters!--Stop!" to the Bantam, who was slinking away. "You've done for yerself already! You swore to it!" "A din't!" said the Bantam, doggedly. "You swore to't," the farmer vociferated afresh. The Bantam played a tune upon the handle of the door, and still affirmed that he did not; a double contradiction at which the farmer absolutely raged in his chair, and was hoarse, as he called out a third time that the Bantam had sworn to it. "Noa!" said the Bantam, ducking his poll. "Noa!" he repeated in a lower note; and then, while a sombre grin betokening idiotic enjoyment of his profound casuistical quibble worked at his jaw: "Not up'n o-ath!" he added, with a twitch of the shoulder and an angular jerk of the elbow.