"Then I will. I've done this thing because it was true. Ask John Prout. True afore the living God; and may He blast me, and strike me with all the curses of hell for all eternity now and for evermore if it ban't true. True!—ask Prout—ask them we've mimicked here—they'll not deny it!"
He pointed to the puppets staring mildly up at their makers.
For a moment Brendon held off and glared round him.
"Don't you believe the filthy liar, Dan!" bellowed Agg from the crowd.
"Let God strike me blind and mad now afore the people if it's not true. Prout saw it—with his own eyes he saw it. Kill me if you like—but it's true—true as the Bible is true—and you'll live to know it," cried Weekes; and his grim earnestness appeared to affect the principal listener.
Ignorant of what was doing, the boy in the shed still struck an old iron bin to imitate a passing bell. The sound acted on the people as a drum on a dervish. Brendon stood irresolute.
"Fling the beastly man into one of them graves and that big, fat fool after him!" shouted a voice.
There was a rush for Weekes and William Churchward. Mud and stones were flung, and a clod struck Jarratt in the mouth.
"Let him go—don't be cowards—let the man take his folly away!" cried Hephzibah shrilly; but none listened. Amid roars and shouts the mob surrounded Weekes and the younger Churchward. Joe Tapson and the choir boys were kicked heartily; Mr. Huggins had escaped in time, and now lurked behind a distant hedge and waited trembling to see what might happen. The people next threw the dolls out of their coffins, trod their putty faces into pulp and played football with their limbs. A man embraced the female figure amid roars of laughter. Then he danced with it.
Half a dozen resolute labourers dragged the Infant into one grave; while others, including a private enemy or two, tied Weekes within an empty coffin and lowered him into the second pit.