"Have you any witness?" asked the magistrate.
"Yes, your worship—I was standing talking to this 'ere lady at the very time," replied Mrs. Bunce, pointing to a meagre young woman in a ragged hurden apron, a worn-out man's coat, and an old muddy hat, something in the form of a barber's basin. "I was talking to this 'ere lady at the very time."
The lady came forward, dabbed a court'sy, and wiped her face with the corner of her apron.
"Oh! this lady," said his worship; "and what may your name be, Miss?"—"Julia Legge, your worship."—"And pray may I ask what occupation you follow—Miss Julia Legge?"
"I sells vauter creeses and sweeps crossings, your worship," replied the gentle Julia; and then she wiped her weather-beaten charms again, and substantiated every word Mrs. Margaret Bunce had uttered.
"Miss Eliza Pritchard and Miss Hannah Maria Bagwell, what have you to say for yourselves?" asked the magistrate.
They answered—"in a joint and corporate voice," "Vy, your Vorship, ve've this 'ere to say—as ve never did nuthin o' the sort; and that there lady (Miss Julia Legge) vasn't there at the time."
Mrs. Bunce and the gentle Julia hearing this, lifted up their eyes and hands in astonishment, and opened a fresh volley of evidence, which concluded with a declaration from Mrs. Bunce, that she never went to see her own mother that they did not lie in wait for and attack her.
"Your mother!" said the magistrate, "why how old are you?"