"W'y, ye see, Amos," began Dutton, positively reeking apology, "I du be that on-common 'ot—you ax un."
"W'y, then, Peter," began Amos, with great unction, "it's 'is pigs!"
"Pigs?" I exclaimed, staring.
"Ah! pigs, Peter," nodded Old Amos, "Dutton's pigs; 'is sow farrowed last week—at three in the marnin'—nine of 'em!"
"Well?" said I, wondering more and more.
"Well, Peter, they was a fine 'earty lot, an' all a-doin' well—till last Monday."
"Indeed!" said I.
"Last Monday night, four on 'em sickened an' died!"
"Most unfortunate!" said I.
"An' the rest 'as never been the same since."