BELL:
Nay: he’ll not dangle in a hempen noose.

JUDITH:
And yet you saw his body ...

BELL:
Dead men’s knuckles!
You didn’t swallow that gammon? Why should I
Be sleeping under Winter’s Stob? But Jim--
I doubt if he’d the guts to stick a porker:
You needn’t fear for him. But I must go.

JUDITH:
Go? You’ll not go without a sup of tea,
After you’ve traiked so far? Michael and Ruth ...

BELL:
Ay, Judith: I just caught a squint of them
Among the cluther outside the circus-tent:
But I was full-tilt on Jim’s track, then: and so,
I couldn’t daunder: or I’d have stopped to have
A closer look: yet I saw that each was carrying
A little image of a Barrasford:

(_Looking into the cradle._)

And here’s the reckling image, seemingly--
The sleeping spit of Michael at the age.