A Son of Hagar. A romance of our time

Front matter

A SON OF HAGAR 2. Romance of our By HALL CAINE ' God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is ' IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. Ill _.on.Ott CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1887 [ The right 0/ translation is reserved CONTENTS OF VOL. III. BOOK THIRD (continued). PAGE THE DECLIVITY OF CRI-__. - - 1 BOOK FOURTH. THE WATERS OF MARAH ARE BITTER - - A SON OF HAGAR. BOOK THE THIRD (continued). THE DECLIVITY OF CRIME.

CHAPTER XVI.

Before Gubblum Oglethorpe parted with Jabez he tried to undo the mischief he had done. ' Give us a shak' o' thy daddle,' he said, holding out his hand. But Jabez had not forgotten the similitude of the swine ring. He made no response. ' Dang him for a fool,' thought Gubblum. ' He's as daft as a besom.' Then Gubblum remembered with what lavish generosity he had bribed the pot-boy to no purpose. ' He covert a shilling dammish,' he thought ; ' I'll dang his silly head off.' VOL. III. Jabez put clown the candle and backed out of the room, his eyes fixed on the pedlar with a ghostly stare. ' You needn't bo_T2,ie at me. I'll none hurt ye,' said Gubblum. Jabez pulled the door after him. ' His head's no'but a lump of puddin' and a daub o' pancake,' thought Gub blum. Then the pedlar sat on the bed and began to wonder what possible reason there might be for the lad's sudden change of temper.

Chapter I. In The Tear

1877. The dale lay green in the morning sunlight ; the river that ran through its lowest bed sparkled with purple and amber; the leaves prattled low in the light breeze that souched through the rushes and the long grass ; the hills rose sheer and white to the smooth blue lake of the sky, where only one fleecy cloud floated languidly across from peak to peak. Out of unseen places came the bleating of sheep and the rumble of distant cataracts, and above the dull thud of tumbling waters far away was the thin carolling of birds overhead. But the air Avas alive with yet sweeter sounds. On the breast of the fell that lies OA'er against Cat Bells a procession of children Avalked, and sang, and chattered, and laughed. It was St. Peter's Day, and r_> ■ they were rush-bearing : little ones of all ages, from the comely girl of fourteen, just ripening into maidenhood, Avho walked last, to the SAveet boy of four in the pinafore braided with epaulettes, Avho strode along gallantly in front.

Alost of the little hands carried rushes, but some AA'ere filled with ferns, and mosses, and flowers. They had assembled at the schoolhouse, and noAV, on their way to the church, they were making the circuit of the dale. They passed over the road that crosses the river at the head of Newlands, and turned down into the path that follows the bed of the valley. At that angle there stands a little group of cottages deliciously cool in their AvhiteAvash, nestling together " O O under the heavy purple crag from which the Avaters of a ghyll fall into a deep basin that reaches to their Avails. The last of the group is a cottage with its end to the road, and its open porch facing a garden shaped like a Avedge. As the children passed this house an old man, gray and thin and much bent, MARAH ARE BITTER. 73 stood by the gate, leaning on a staff.

A collie, with the sheep-dog's Avooden bar sus pended from its shaggy neck, lay at his feet. The hum of A'oices brought a young woman into the porch. She Avas bare-headed and Avore a light print gown. Her face was pale and marked with lines. She walked cautiously, stretching one hand before her with an uncertain motion, and grasping a trailing tendril of honeysuckle that swept doAvnward from the roof. Her eyes, which Avere partly inclined upAvards and partly turned towards the procession, had a A'ague light in their bleached pupils. She Avas blind. At her side, and tugging at her other hand, was a child of a year and a half — a chubby, sunny little fellow with ruddy cheeks, blue eyes, and fair curly hair. Prattling, laughing, singing snatches, and Avaving their rushes and ferns above their happy, thoughtless heads, the children rattled past.

When they Avere gone the air was empty, as it is Avhen the lark stops in its song. The church of Newlands stands in the heart of the valley, half hidden by a clump of trees. By the lych-gate Parson Christian stood that morning ; aged a little, the snoAV a thought thicker on his bushy hair, the face melloAver, the liquid eyes full of the sunlight behind which lies the shower. Greta stood beside him ; quieter of manner than in the old days, a deeper thoughtfulness in her face, her blue eyes more grave and less restless, her fair hair no longer falling in Avaves behind her, but gathered up into a demure knot under her hat. ' Here they come, bless their innocent hearts!' said Parson Christian, and at that moment the children turned an angle of the road. The pink and white of their frocks and pinafores were all but hidden by the little forest of green that they carried before and above them. ' " Till Burnam wood do come to Dun sinane," ' muttered Greta, smiling.

When the rush-bearers came up to the front of the church, the lych-gate was throAvn open and they filed through. MAR AH ARE BITTER. 75 ' Hoav tired he looks, the braA'e little boy,' said Greta, picking up the foremost of the company, the tiny man in the epaulettes, now covered with the dust of the roads. ' The little ones first, and you great girls afterwards,' said the Parson. ' Those Avith flowers go up to the communion and lay them on the form, and those with mosses put them on the font, and those with rushes and ferns begin under the pulpit and come down the aisle to the porch.' The stalwart little tramp in Greta's arms wriggled his Avay to the ground. He had mosses in his hand and must go first. Then the children trooped into the church, and in an instant the rude old place was ahVe with the buzz of prattling tongues.

The floor covered many a tomb. Graven on the plain slabs that formed the pathway down the middle of the church Avere the names of the men and women AA'ho had lived and died in the dale generations gone by. In their own day they Avere children them selves ; and now other children, their oavii children's children's children — with never a thought about what lay beneath, with only love in their eyes, and laughter on their lips, and life in their limbs — Avere strewing rushes down the path above them. In ten minutes there was not an inch of the flagged aisle visible. All was green from the communion to the porch. Here and there an adventurous lad, turning to account the skill at climbing acquired at birds'-nesting, had clambered over the pews to the rude crosstrees and hung great bunches of rushes from the roof. ' Now children, let us sing,' said the Parson, and taking up the accordion he started a hymn.

The leaded AvindoAvs of the old church stood open, and the sweet young voices floated aAvay, and far aAvay, over the up lands and the dale. And the birds still sang in the blue sky, and the ghylls still rumbled in the distance, and the light wind still souched through the long grass. and the morning sunlight shone over all. There was a cloud of dust on the road, THE WA TERS OF MARAH ARE BITTER. 77 and presently there came trooping down from the village a company of men, sur rounded by a whole circuit of clogs. Snarls and yaps, and yelps, and squawks, and guffaws, and sometimes the cachinnation and crow of cocks, broke upon the clear air. The roystering set would be as many as a dozen, and all were more or less drunk. First came John Proudfoot, the blacksmith, in his shirtsleeves, AA'ith his leathern apron wrapped in a knot about his Avaist, and a silver and black gamecock imprisoned under his arm.

Lang Geordie Moore, his young helper, carried another fowl. Dick o' the Syke, the miller, in a broAvn coat Avhitened with flour, Avalked abreast of Geordie and tickled the gills of the fowl with a straw. Job Sheepshanks, the letter-cutter, carried a pot of pitch and a brush, and little Tom o' Dint hobbled along with a handful of iron files. Behind these came the landlord of the Flying Horse with a basket over one arm, from which peeped the corks of many bottles, and Natt, the stableman at the Ghyll, carried a wicker cage, in which sat a red bantam -cock with spurs that glittered in the light. There was one other man who walked Avith the company, and he was the soul of the noisy crew; his voice was the loudest, his laugh the longest, and half of all that o o ' Avas said was addressed to him.

He was a lusty man with a florid face; he Avore a suit of tweeds plaided in wide stripes of buff and black. It was Paul Drayton. ' Burn my body, and what's on iioav?' he said as the gang reached the church. ' Rush-bearing, I reckon,' answered Tom o' Dint. ' And AA'hat's rush-bearing?' ' You know, Mister Paul,' said the post man, 'rush-bearing — the barns rush-bearing — St. Peter's Day, you know.' 'Oh, a}-, I know — rush-bearing. Let me see, ain't it once a year?' ' What, man, but you mind the days Avhen you Avere a bit boy and went arushing yersel'?' said the blacksmith. ' Coorse, coorse, oh, ay, I ain't forgotten them days. Let me see, it's a kind of a harvest-home, ain't it?' ' Nowt o' the sort,' said Dick, the miller, testily. ' Your memory's failing fast, Mister Ritson.' ' And that's true, old fence.

I'll neA'er be the same man again after that brain fever I had up in London — not in the head-piece, you knoAv.' The group of men and dogs had draAvn up in front of the church just as Brother Peter crossed the churchyard to the porch, carrying a red paper in his hand. ' Who's that— the Methodee man?' ' It's the Methodee for sure,' said the blacksmith. ' Ey, it's the Parson's Peter,' added the postman, ' and yon paper is a telegraph — it's like he's takin' it to somebody.' ' Hold hard, my boys,' said Drayton; and, leaving his cronies, he strode through the lych-gate and doAvn the path, the dogs yapping around him. Brother Peter had draAvn up at the door of the porch ; the children were still singing. ' If that telegram is for my Avife, you may hand it over to me,' said Drayton, and reached out his hand to take it.

Brother Peter drew back. ' It Avill be all right, old fellow — I'll see she gets it.' ' Ey, thoo'll manish that, I's warn,' said Peter, in a caustic A'oice. ' Come, don't you know that what belongs to the wife belongs to the husband ?' ' Don't know as I do. I's neA'er been larn't sec daftness,' said Peter. ' Hand it over. Come, be quick.' ' Get ower me 'at can,' said Peter, with a decisive twinkle. ' Gi'e him a slab ower the lug,' shouted the miller from the road. 'You hear Avhat they say? Come, out with it.' 'Ey, you've rowth o' friends, you're a teeran crew, but I cares laal for any on you.' Drayton turned away with a contemptuous snort. ' Damme, what a clatter,' he shouted, and leapt on to the raised mound of a grave to look in at an open AA-indow. As he did so he kicked a glass for flowers that lay upon it, and the broken frame tumbled in many pieces. ' I've done for somebody's money,' he said with a loud guffaw. ' What, man, but it were thy aAvn brass as bought it,' said the blacksmith. ' Ey, it's thy fadder's grave,' said Job Sheepshanks.

Drayton glanced down at the headstone. ' Why, so it is,' he said ; ' d'ye see, I hain't been here since the day I buried him.' ' Nay, that's all stuff and nonsense,' said Job. 'I mind the morning I found ye lying wet and frostit on the top of that grave.' ' D'ye say so? Well, I ain't for denying it; and now I think of it, I was — yes, I was here that morning.' ' Nay, you warn't nowt o' the sort,' said the blacksmith. ' That AA-ere the varra morning as Giles Raisley saw you at the Pack Horse sleeping. I mind the fratch Job had with laal Gubblum about it lang ago.' vol. in. ' It's all stuff and nonsense,' replied Job. ' He Avere here.' • The Pack Horse? Well, now, I remember I was there, too.' The sino-ing had ceased, and Greta came out into the porch on tiptoe, carcying in her arms a tiny mite, who was crying.

Peter handed her the telegram, and turned up the path. Drayton had rejoined his companions, and Avas in the act of knocking the neck off a bottle by striking it against the AA'all, when Peter walked through the lych-gate. ' Teem a pint o' j'ai doAA'n the Methodee's back,' shouted Dick, the miller, and in another moment Brother Peter Avas coA-ered Avith the contents of the broken bottle. A loud roystering laugh filled the air, and echoed from the hills. ' What a breck !' tittered the postman. ' What a breck !' shouted the blacksmith. ' What a breck !' roared the miller. ' Get ower me 'at can,' mimicked Natt. ' He's got a lad's heart, has Mister Paul, said the landlord of the Flying Horse. MAR AH ARE BITTER. 83 ' Ey, he's a fair fatch,' echoed little Tom o' Dint. Leaving Peter to shake himself dry of the liquor that dripped from him in froth, the noisy gang reeled doAvn the road, the yelping dogs careering about them, and the cocks squawking with the hugs they received from the twitching arms of the men con- A'ulsed Avith laughter.

At the head of the Vale of NeAvlands there is a clearing that Avas made by the lead -miners of two centuries ago. It lies at the feet of an amphitheatre of hills that rise peak aboA'e peak, and die off, depth beyond depth. Of the old mines nothing remains but the level cuttings in the sides of the fells, and here and there the Avashing-pits cut out of the rock at your feet. Fragments of stone lie about, glistening with veins of lead, but no sound of pick or hammer breaks the stillness, and no cart or truck trundles over the rough path. It is a solitude in which one might forget that the world is full of noise. To this spot Drayton and his cronies 46—2 made their way. At one of the old washing troughs they drew up, and sat in a circle on its rocky sides. They had come for a cockfight. It was to be the bantam (carried by Natt and owned by his master) against all comers.

Drayton and the blacksmith Avere the setters-on. The first bout AA'as betAveen the bantam and Lang Geordie's ponderous black Spanish. Geordie's bird soon squaAvked dolorously, and made off over the heads of the derisive spectators, whereupon Geordie captured it by one of its outstretched wings, and forth- Avith screwed its neck. Then came John Proudfoot's silver and black, and straight way steel gaffs were affixed to the spurs. When the cocks felt their feet they crowed, and then pecked the ground from side to side. An exciting struggle ensued. Up and doAvn, over and under, now beating the breast, noAV trailing the comb, now pecking at the gills. And the tAvo men at opposite sides of the pit — the one in his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the other in his sporting plaid — stooped with every lunge S5 and craned their necks Avith every fall, and bobbed their heads with every peck, their eyes flashing, their teeth set.

At one moment they drew off their birds, called for the files, and sharpened up the spurs. Later on they seized the cocks by the necks, shouted for the pitch-pot, and patched up the bleeding combs. The birds Avere equally matched, and fought long. At last their strength ebbed away. They followed each other feebly, stretching their long lagging throats languidly, opening their beaks and hanging out their dry white tongues, turning tail, then twisting about and fighting again, until both lay stretched out on the pit bottom. As the energy of the cocks subsided, the ardour of the men AA'axed sensibly. They yelled excitedly, protested, reA'iled, SAA-ore, laughed, jeered, and crowed. At length, when the bantam fell and gave no signs of a speedy resurrection, the anger of Drayton could not be supported.

He leapt across the pit, his face red as his cock's comb, and shouting, ' Damme, what for did ye pick up my bird ?' he planted a bloAv full on the blacksmith's chest. A fight of a yet fiercer kind folloAved. Amid shouts, and in the thick of a general scuffle, the blacksmith closed Avith his powerful adversary, gripped him about the waist, tAvisted him on his loins, and brought him to the ground with a crash. Then he stood over him with fierce eyes. ' I mak' no doubt you're not hankerin' for another of that sort,' he puffed. ' John's given him the cross-buttock,' said the miller. ' The master's lost all his wrustling,' said Natt, blinking out of his sleepy eyes. ' I mind the day AA'hen he could have put John doAvn same as a bit boy,' said the little postman. Natt helped Drayton to his feet.

He AA'as quiet enough noAV, but as black in the face as a thundercloud. ' This comes of a gentleman mixing with them as is beneath him,' he muttered, and he mopped his perspiring forehead Avith a bandana handkerchief. The miller snurted, the mason grunted, the little postman laughed in his thin pipe. Drayton's eyes flashed. ' I'm a gentleman, I am, if you want to knoAv,' he said defiantly. The blacksmith stood by, leisurely rolling doAvn his shirt-sleeves. ' Ey, for fault of wise folk we call you so, ' he said, and laughed. ' But when I leet of a man, I's rather have him nor a hundred sec gentlemen as you.' ' Thoo's reet for once, John,' shouted Dick o' the Syke, and there Avas some general laughter. ' Gentleman ! Ax the woman folk what they mak' of sec a gentleman,' continued the blacksmith with contemptuous emphasis. ' Him as larn't folks to fill the public and empty the cupboard.' There was a murmur among the men as they tAvisted about. ' Ax them Avhat they mak' of him 'at spent four days in Lunnon and came back another man — ax the woman folk ; they're maistly reet, I reckon.' Another uneasy movement among the men. ' Burn my body ! and what's the women to me?' said Drayton. ' Nay, noAvt,' ansAA'ered the blacksmith. ' Your awn wife seems noways powerful keen for your company.' Drayton's eyes AA'ere red, but the fire died out of them in an instant.

He stepped up to the blacksmith and held out his hand. ' You've licked me,' he said in another tone, ' but I ain't the man to keep spite, I ain't ; so come along, old fence, and lets wet it.' ' That's weel said,' put in Tommy Lowth- Avaite, the landlord. ' It's no'but fair,' said Dick the Miller. ' He's a reet sort, after all,' said Job the mason. ' He's his aAvn fadder's son is Paul Ritson,' said Tom o' Dint. In tAvo minutes more the soiled company were trampling knee-deep through rank beds of rushes on their way to the other side of the dale. They stopped a few yards from a pit shaft with its head-gear and wheel. ' Let's take my brother's ken for it,' said Drayton, and they turned into a one-story house that stood near. It was a single capacious chamber, furnished more like a library than an office : carpets, rugs, a cabinet, easy chairs, and a solid table in the middle of the floor.

The cockfighters filed in and sat down on every aA'ailable chair, on the table, and at last, on the floor. ' Squat and Avhiff,' said Drayton, ' and, Tommy, you out with the corks quick.' ' It must be a bonny money-making consarn to keep up the like of this,' said the miller, settling himself uneasily in an easy chair. Dick AA'as telling himself what a fool he had been not to ask more than the fifty pounds he receiA'ed for the damage once done by fire to his mill. ' HaA'e you never heard as it ain't all gold as glitters?' said Drayton; and he struck a lucifer match on the top of the mahogany table. ' What, man, dusta mean as the pit's not paying?' said the blacksmith. Drayton gave his head a sidelong shake of combined astuteness and reserA'e. ' I mak' no doubt now as you have to lend Master Hugh many a gay penny,' said Tom o' Dint in an insinuating tone. ' Least said, soonest mended,' said Dray ton sententiously, and smiled a mighty knowing smile.

Then the men laughed, and the landlord handed the bottles round, and all drank out of the necks, and puffed dense volumes of smoke from their pipes, and spat on the carpet. And still the birds sang in the clear air Avithout, and still the ghylls rumbled, and still the light wind souched through the grass, and still the morning sunlight shone over all. The door opened, and Hugh Ritson entered, followed by the lawyer, Mr. Bonni thorne. There Avas a steely glimmer in his MAR AH ARE BITTER. 91 eyes as he stood just inside the threshold and looked round. ' Come, get out of this,' he said The men shuffled to their feet and Avere elboAA'ing their way out. Drayton, who sat on the table, removed his pipe from between his teeth, and called on them to remain. Hugh Ritson stepped up to Drayton and touched him on the shoulder. ' I Avant to speak AA'ith you,' he said. ' What is it?' demanded Drayton. ' I want to speak Avith you,' repeated Hugh. ' What is it?

Out with it. You've got the gift of the gab, hain't ye ? Don't mind my friends.' Hugh Ritson's face whitened, and a cold smile passed over it. ' Your time is near,' he muttered, and turned on his heel. As he stepped out of the noisome chamber, a loud hoarse laugh followed him. He drew a long breath. ' Thank God, it will soon be over,' he said. Bonnithorne Avas at his side. ' Is it to be to-morroAv ?' asked the laAvyer. ' To-morrow,' said Hugh Ritson. ' HaA-e you told him?' ' Tell him yourself, Bonnithorne. I can bear Avith the man no longer. I shall be doing something that I may repent' ' HaA'e you apprised Parson Christian?' Hugh Ritson bent his head. 'And Greta?' ' She won't come,' said Hugh. ' The girl could never breathe the same air as that scoundrel for si A'e minutes together.' ' And yet he's her half-brother,' said the lawyer softly; and then he added with his conventional smile: 'odd, isn't it?' ♦

Chapter II

When the procession of children had passed the little cottage at the angle of the roads, the old man who leaned on his staff at the gate turned about and stepped to the porch. ' Did the boy see them ? — -did he see the children ?' said the young woman who held the child by the hand. ' I mak' na doot,' said the old man. He stooped to the little one and held out one long withered finger. The soft baby hand closed on it instantly. 'Did he laugh? I thought he laughed,' said the young woman. A bright smile played on her lips. ' Maybe so, lass.' ' Ralphie has neA'er seen the children before, father. Didn't he look frightened — just a little frightened — at first, you know? I thought he crept behind my gown.' ' Maybe, maybe.' The little one had dropped the hand of his young mother, and, still holding the bony finger of his grandfather, he toddled beside him into the house.

Very cool and SAveet was the kitchen, with Avhitewashed Avails and hard earthen floor. A table and settle stood by the window, and a dresser that Avas an armoury of bright pewter dishes, trenchers, and piggins, crossed the opposite Avail. ' Na)', but sista here, laal man,' said the old charcoal-burner, and he dived into a great pocket at his side. ' Have you brought it? Is it the kitten? Oh, dear, let the bo}' see it!' A kitten came out of the old man's pocket, and Avas set down on the rug at the hearth. The timid creature sat dazed, then raised itself on its hind legs and meAved. 'Where's Ralphie? Is he Avatching it, father? What is he doing?' The little one had dropped on hands and THE WATERS OF MARAH ARE BITTER. 95 knees before the kitten, and was gazing up into its face. The mother leaned OA-er him with a face that Avould have beamed with sunshine if the sun of sight had not been missing. ' Is he looking ?

Doesn't he want to coddle it?' The little chap had pushed his nose close to the nose of the kitten, and Avas prattling to it in various inarticulate noises. ' Boo — loo — lal-la — mama.' 'Isn't he a darling, father?' ' It's a winsome AA'ee thing,' said the old man, still standing, Avith drooping head, over the group on the hearth. The mother's face saddened, and she turned away. Then from the opposite side of the kitchen, AA'here she was making pretence to take plates from a plate-rack, there came the sound of suppressed sobs. The old man's eyes followed her. 'Nay, lass; let's have a sup of broth,' he said, in a tone that carried another message. The young Avoman put plates and a bowl of broth on the table. A SON OF HA GAR. ' To think that I can never see my own child, and everybody else can see him!' she said, and then there Avas another bout of tears.

The charcoal-burner supped at his broth in silence. A glistening bead rolled slowly clown his Avizened cheek ; and the inter vieAv on the hearth went on without inter ruption : ' Mew — mew — mew.' ' Boo — loo — lal-la — mama.' There was a foot on the gravel in front. 'How fend ye, Mattha?' said a voice from without. ' Come thy ways, Gubblum,' ansAA'ered the old man. Gubblum Oglethorpe entered, dressed dif ferently than of old. He wore a suit of canvas stained deeply with iron ore. ' I's thinking maybe Mercy will let me AA'arm up my poddish,' said Gubblum. ' And welcome,' said Mercy, and took doAvn from the dresser a saucepan and por ridge thivel. 'I'll make it for you while father sups his broth.' ' Nay, lass, you're as thrang as an auld THE WA TERS OF MARAH ARE BITTER. 97 peat Avife, I's warn.

I'll mak' it myself. I's rather partic'lar about my poddish, forby. Dusta know how many faults poddish may haA'e? They may be sour, sooty, sodden, and savvorless, soat, Avelsh, brocken, and lumpy — and that's mair nor enough, thoo knows.' Gubblum had gone down on the hearth rug. ' Why, and here's the son and heir,' he said. 'Nay, laddie, mind my claes — they'll dirty thy bran-new brat for thee.' ' Is he growing, Gubblum ?' ' Growing ? — amain.' ' And his eyes — are they changing colour ? — going brown?' ' Maybe — I'll not be for saying nay.' ' Is he — is he very like me ?' 'Nay — weel — nay — I's fancying I see summat of the stranger in the laal chap at AA'hiles.' The young mother turned her head. Gubblum twisted to where Matthew sat. ' That man and all his raggabash are vol. in. raking about this morning.

It caps all, it does for sure.' The old charcoal-burner did not answer. He paused with the spoon half-raised, glanced at Mercy, and then went on with his broth. ' Hasta heard of the lang yammer in the papers about yon matter?' said Gubblum. ' Nay,' said Matthew, ' I hears noAAi; of the papers.' ' He's like to hang a lang crag when he hears about it.' ' I mak' na doot,' said Matthew, showing no curiosity. ' It's my belief 'at the auld Avoman at Hendon is turning tail. You mind she was down last back end, and he wadn't have nowt to say to her.' ' Ey, I mind her,' said Matthew. ' EA'ery dog has his day, and I reckon yon dog's day is nigh amaist done. And it wad haA'e been a vast shorter on'y Mercy hadn't her eyes.' ' Ey, ey,' said Matthew quietly. ' If the lass had no'but been able to say, " Yon man is Drayton, and yon as you've MAR AH ARE BITTER. 99 got in prison is Ritson, and I saw the bad wark done, that wad have settled it.' ' Na doot,' said MattheAv, his head in the bowl. ' They Avarn't for hearing me.