“Exac’ly,” continued Jim imperturbably, “and if aw remember reetly it says that th’ actooal murderer needn’t apply. They’n no use for him excep’ to hang him. An’ that ma’es me think Ephraim has his own reason for lying low an’ keepin’ his own counsel. Yo’ see fro’ what Abe an’ me yeard that neet Ephraim were ready to set agate at the owd man an’ Tom onny minnit. He were just fixin’ for a feight, an’ aw dunnot think he were partirkler who it were with. But, theer, it all comes back to this: aw cannot see we can do onny gooid bi speikin’ nah, an’ aw can we med put Billy’s neck i’ th’ halter; an’ aw think that ud abaat finish Miriam off.”
“Well, Well,” said my father, “we’ll let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Besides,” continued Jim, “aw’m stalled o’ th’ whole business. Nother Abe nor me’s struck a bat to mean owt this month back. We’n aar livin’ to addle, an’ while aw’m on th’ subjec’, Mr. Holmes, aw sud like to ax yo’, sir, axin’ yo’r pardon for ma’in’ so bowd, an’ weel knowin’ ’at oo’s far aboon what aw’n onny reight to look to, if yo’n onny partickler objection to me for a son-in-law. Aw know aw’n not bin dipped, but that can happen bi getten over, though aw sud tak’ it kindly if yo’d put a drop o’ warm watter i’ th’ dippin’-well, me bein’ nobbut delicate. Aw’ll tew for her neet an day, an there’s no need to say aw’ll let her ha’ her own way i’ ivverything. Oo’ll see to that.”
“Ah. Jim, Jim,” said my father, “I’ve ever thanked God for giving me Abe. I shall not blame Ruth for giving me you.”
And now, good reader, this narrative nears its close. Neither Daft Billy nor Ephraim was ever seen in our parts again, so far a I know, but some months after the crime, when folk had found something else to talk about, a stranger, whose swarthy complexion and dark locks proclaimed him a gypsy, knocked at my father’s door and, handing to Miriam an ill-written letter, was gone before she could question him. It ran thus:—
DEAR MIRIAM
This from Billy, to let you know all’s well with him. Ephraim’s gone for a soger, which is all he’s fit for. You’ll never see him or me again, though belike I’st see you, when you little think it. I’m cow jobbing in Wales, but keep that to yourself. There’s reasons why I don’t want to be seen Burnplatts way this many a year. I thought it was them Bradburys kidnapped you, but Eph. has owned up as it was him. I think Eph. was mad with drink, and I was mad for what I thowt they’d done to you. Any way, get wed as soon as you like. I’st noan be theer to drink your health, but nobody ’ll miss
DAFT BILLY.
The reading of this letter put our studying caps on again, and I think we were all willing to let sleeping dogs lie. My own firm conviction is that Ephraim and the Bradburys were at high words, perhaps at blows, that Billy burst upon them like a tiger, seized the first weapon he saw, struck blindly, heedless where his blows fell, that there was a general scuffle, in which probably Ephraim joined, that the old man was the first to succumb, though not actually killed; that Tom tried to make for the door, and was struck down and left a corpse in the passage; that Eph. and Billy fled across the moors, of which they knew every inch, made their way to Burnplatts, where they lay in hiding till the hue and cry died out, and then found it easy enough to make off to distant parts.
However, there was one sentence in the letter which I found very much to my liking—the advice to get wed at once. Jim and I had got Mitchell Mill into good going’ order, and though we were much handicapped by the smallness of our means we were not doing so badly.