Jim held up a bundle.
“Here’s yer coat an’ hat,” he said. “I dursent bring ’em last neet.”
“Why did you run away?” inquired Martin, approaching to take his property.
“I was skeert. Yon woman’s yellin’ was awful. I went straight off yam.”
“Did you catch it for being out late?”
“Noa; but feyther gev me a clout this mornin’ for not tellin’ him about t’ murder. He’d gone te bed.”
“Nobody was murdered,” said Martin.
“That wasn’t Betsy’s fault. It’s all my eye about Mr. Pickerin’ stickin’ a fork into hisself. There was noa fork there.”
“How do you know?”
“Coss I was pullin’ carrots all Saturday mornin’ for Mrs. Atkinson, an’ if there’d bin any fork I should ha’ seen it.”