"
Farmer Porter had listened to this harangue, with mouth and eyes gradually
expanding between awe and the desire to comprehend; but at the last
sentence his countenance fell.
"So I'm thinking, Mister Porter, that the best witch in siccan a case is
ane that ye may find at the police-office."
"Anan?"
"Thae detective police are gran' necromancers an' canny in their way: an' I
just took the liberty, a week agone, to ha' a crack wi' ane o' 'em. An noo,
gin ye're inclined, we'll leave the whusky awhile, an' gang up to that cave
o' Trophawnius, ca'd by the vulgar Bow-street, an' speir for tidings o' the
twa lost sheep."
So to Bow-street we went, and found our man, to whom the farmer bowed with
obsequiousness most unlike his usual burly independence. He evidently half
suspected him to have dealings with the world of spirits: but whether he
had such or not, they had been utterly unsuccessful; and we walked back
again, with the farmer between us, half-blubbering--
"I tell ye, there's nothing like ganging to a wise 'ooman. Bless ye, I mind
one up to Guy Hall, when I was a barn, that two Irish reapers coom down,
and murthered her for the money--and if you lost aught she'd vind it, so
sure as the church--and a mighty hand to cure burns; and they two villains
coom back, after harvest, seventy mile to do it--and when my vather's cows
was shrew-struck, she made un be draed under a brimble as growed together
at the both ends, she a praying like mad all the time; and they never got
nothing but fourteen shilling and a crooked sixpence; for why, the devil
carried off all the rest of her money; and I seen um both a-hanging in
chains by Wisbeach river, with my own eyes.
Pages:
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524