Poor sawl--so cold as
a quilkin [Footnote: _Quilkin_--A frog.] now, and the unborn baaby
tu." Then Mr. Bartlett answered:
"The unhappy creature was fine an' emperent to me 'bout a matter o'
drownin' chets in the spring. Yet here she'm drowned herself sure 'nough.
Well, well, God's will be done."
"'Tis coorious, to be sure, how bazzomy [Footnote: _Bazzomy_--Blue or
livid.] a corpse do get 'bout the faace arter a water death," said the
first speaker, regarding the dead with frank interest.
"Her eyes do make me wimbly-wambly in the stomach," declared the second
laborer; "when you've done talkin', Gaffer Polglaze, us'll go up-long, an'
the sooner the better."
"Butivul eyes, tu, they was--wance. Sky-color an' no less. What I'm
wonderin' is as to however she comed here 'tall."
"Piskey-led, I'll warrant 'e," said the ancient.
"Nay, man-led, which is worse. You mind that printed envelope us found in
the kitchen. 'Twas some dark doin' of that anointed vellun as brot her in
trouble. Ay, an' if I could do en a graave hurt I would, Methodist or no
Methodist."
"He'm away," answered Bartlett. "'Tedn' no call for you nor yet me to
meddle wi' the devil's awn business. The man'll roast for't when his time
do come. You'd best to take your coats off an' cover this poor clay, lest
the wummen should catch a sight an' go soundin'."
They did as he bid them, and Mr. Bartlett laid his own coat upon the body
likewise.
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