," said the man. "Do you mind
what I sed? My wife be terrible bad wi' fever, and her head all of
a split, and can't bear no noise--and will you do what I say? Take
that brat away. Is this my house or is it yours? Take that 'orrid
squaller away, or I'll shy my boot at yer head."

"But," said Iver, "there's a man dead--been murdered up in the--"

"There'll be more afore long, if you don't cut. I'll heave that
boot at you when I've counted thrice, if you don't get out. Drat
that child! It'll wake my wife. Now, then, are you going?"

Iver retreated hastily as the man whirled his heavy boot above his
head by the lace.

On leaving the house he looked about him in the dark. The cottages
were scattered here and there, some in hollows by springs, others
on knolls above them, without a definite road between them, except
when two enclosures formed a lane betwixt their hedges.

The boy was obliged to step along with great care, and to feel his
way in front of him with his foot before planting it. A quarter
of an hour had elapsed before he reached the habitation of the
next squatter.

This was a ramshackle place put together of doors and windows
fitted into walls, made of boards, all taken from ruinous cottages
that had been pillaged, and their wreckage pieced together as best
could be managed. Here Iver knocked, and the door was opened
cautiously by an old man, who would not admit him till he had
considered the information given.

"What do you say? A man murdered? Where? When? Are the murderers
about?"

"They have run away."

"And what do you want me to do?"

"Would you mind taking in the poor little baby, and going to help
Master Bideabout Kink to carry the body down."

"Where to? Not here. We don't want no bodies here."

The old fellow would have slammed the door in Iver's face had not
the boy thrust in foot and knee.

Then a woman was heard calling, "What is that there, Jamaica? I
hear a babe."

"Please, Mrs. Cheel, here is a poor little creature, the child of
the murdered man, and it has no one to care for it," said the boy.

"A babe! Bless me! give the child to me," cried the woman. "Now
then, Jamaica, bundle out of that, and let me get at the baby."

"No, I will not, Betsy," retorted the man designated Jamaica. "Why
should I? Ask for an inch, and they'll have an ell. Stick in the
toe of the baby, and they'll have the dead father after it. I don't
want no corpses here."

"I will have the baby. I haven't