The Argosy — page 216: what you’re looking at

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Ub on the Moor. 199 But at the first soothing words he attempted the frightened crea- ture crawled forward and clasped his knees convulsively. ‘Vor the love o’ heaven daunt ’ee harm a pure old widder ’ooman what wan’t be long out ’o her grave anyhow, an’ I'll tell ’ee the gospel truth, zo zure as death I wull!” “There, there, guidwife, I’m not going to hurt you or anybody else. Get up, there’s a good creature, and get me my coat and trou- sers, that’s all I want. Don’t look so scared; you didn’t take me for a ghost walking in broad daylight, did you ? ” ‘* You’m zure you wan’t hurt me wan I tell ’ee arl? I be in my zeventy-vour’,, an’ vrail as a bird, I be!” ‘““T won’t say what I shan’t do if you keep me standing here much longer! Where on earth have you put my clothes? You haven’t burnt them by accident, have you ?” “Oh, wat wull ’ee zay when I tell ’ee ?” And Betty Trownson fell to sobbing violently, while still clinging to her guest’s knees. Mr. Fairburn fairly stamped with vexation. “Confound it all! What on earth am I to do with this old lunatic? ‘They’ll have sent out a search party from Coombe by now, and it may be up here directly as hkely as not. A pretty figure I should cut if Miss Madge put her head in the door just now! By the way, I wonder what time it really is.” And freeing himself with difficulty from the unwelcome embrace, Mr. Fairburn strode hastily towards the inner room, the impromptu dressing-gown floating boldly out behind his manly form. In another minute he returned with an angry light in his blue eyes. ‘Then there really Zas been some devilry or other going on in the night, you old beldame! You've good cause to be frightened—my watch, and my money, and my gun all gone! Tell me this instant where they are, or I’ll shake the truth out of your old body!” Notwithstanding his angry words, Aleck lifted the sobbing old woman gently enough from the floor, and placed her in her wooden arm-chalr. “‘ But first of all tell me where I shall find my clothes? I can do nothing without ¢/em, for certain.” “Oh, zir !—daun’t ’ee be zo wrath wi’ me !—they’m a gone too!” “Gone ! gone where ?” gasped the victim. ‘“‘ He’ve a took ’em, yer honour—Black Jan—an’ the watch, an’ the gun, an’ arl! But wan't ’ee have they things he’th a left vor ’ee to wear instead ?_ I’ve a got ’em arl safe here vor ’ee.” And drawing from within the press bedstead a bundle of clothing, the widow displayed before the astonished gaze of the young laird a suit of homespun, coarse indeed in texture, but pleasingly varied in hue, each parti-coloured garment being further conspicuously adorned with a huge inwoven “broad arrow,” in short, the strikingly distin- guished costume peculiar to the inmates of Dartmoor Prison. Mr. Fairburn’s first impulse was, I fear, to indulge in some exceed: EGOMIGIOOKS (CO) im