"He's e'en at his supper, puir thing," answered Madge; "deil an ye were
at yours, too, an it were scauding brimstone, and then we wad hae less o'
your din."
"His supper!" answered the more sulky ruffian--"What d'ye mean by
that!--Tell me where he is, or I will knock your Bedlam brains out!"
"He's in Gaffer Gablewood's wheat-close, an ye maun ken."
"His wheat-close, you crazed jilt!" answered the other, with an accent of
great indignation.
"O, dear Tyburn Tam, man, what ill will the blades of the young wheat do
to the puir nag?"
"That is not the question," said the other robber; "but what the country
will say to us to-morrow, when they see him in such quarters?--Go, Tom,
and bring him in; and avoid the soft ground, my lad; leave no hoof-track
behind you."
"I think you give me always the fag of it, whatever is to be done,"
grumbled his companion.
"Leap, Laurence, you're long enough," said the other; and the fellow left
the barn accordingly, without farther remonstrance.
In the meanwhile, Madge had arranged herself for repose on the straw; but
still in a half-sitting posture, with her back resting against the door
of the hovel, which, as it opened inwards, was in this manner kept shut
by the weight of the person.
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