"Whom do you mean?" asked the Vicar.
"Why, that infernal witch, Madge, that lives with old Hawker," said the man excitedly. "That's who I mean!"
"Why, what injury has she done you?"
"Bewitched me, I tell you! Given me these shaking fits. She told me she would, when I left; and so she has, to prevent my speaking. I might a spoke out anytime this year, only the old man kept me quiet with money; but now it's nigh too late!"
"What might you have spoken about?" asked the Vicar.
"Well, I'll just relate the matter to you," said the man, speaking fast and thick, "and I'll speak the truth. A twelvemonth agone, this Madge and me had a fierce quarrel, and I miscalled her awful, and told her of some things she wasn't aware I knew of; and then she said, 'If ever a word of that escapes your lips, I'll put such a spell on ye that your bones shall shake apart.' Then I says, if you do, your bastard son shall swing."
"Who do you mean by her bastard son?"
"Young George Hawker. He is not the son of old Mrs. Hawker! Madge was brought to bed of him a fortnight before her mistress; and when she bore a still-born child, old Hawker and I buried it in the wood, and we gave Madge's child to Mrs. Hawker, who never knew the difference before she died."
"On the word of a dying man, is that true?" demanded the Vicar.
"On the word of a dying man that's true, and this also. I says to Madge, 'Your boy shall swing, for I know enough to hang him.' And she said, 'Where are your proofs?' and I—O Lord! O Lord! she's at me again."