“Well, I'm dom'd,” he exclaimed. “I'm dom'd, if I would na loike to see that chap i' Riggan! What's th' felly getten on?”
“He's dressed i' goat-skins. He wur cast upon a desert island, an' had na owt else to wear.”
“I thowt he must ha' been reduced i' circumstances, or he'd nivver ha' turnt out i' that rig less he thowt more o' comfort than appearances. What wur he doin' a-casting hissen on a desert island? Wur he reet i' th' upper story?”
“He wur shipwrecked,” triumphantly. “Th' sea drifted him to th' shore, an' he built hissen a hut, an' gettin' goats an' birds, an'—an' aw sorts—an'—it's the graideliest book tha ivver seed. Miss Anice gave it me.”
“Has she read it hersen?”
“Aye, it wur her as tellt me most on it.”
Sammy turned the volume over, and looked at the back of it, at the edges of the leaves, at the gilt-lettered title.
“I would na be surprised,” he observed with oracular amiability. “I would na be surprised—if that's th' case—as theer's summat in it.”
“That as I've towd thee is nowt to th' rest on it,” answered Jud in enthusiasm. “Theer's a mon ca'd Friday, an' a lot o' fellys as eats each other—cannybles they ca' 'em——”
“Look tha here,” interposed Craddock, his curiosity and interest getting the better of him. “Sit thee down and read a bit. That's something as I nivver heard on—cannybles an' th' loike. Pick thee th' place, an' let's hear summat about th' cannybles if tha has na th' toime to do no more.”