But we smell the feoffees’ dinner, and must not delay the progress of Jabez and his friends. A large body of feoffees were present, many in the uniforms of their special volunteer regiments.
“So this is the little fellow who was picked up asleep in a cradle during the flood of August, 1799,” observed rather than inquired one of the gentlemen, who appeared as spokesman.
“Yoi, yo’r honours,” answered Simon, making a sort of bow.
“Who can bear witness to that?”
“Aw con”—“An’ aw con,” responded Simon and Matt Cooper in a breath. “It wur uz as got him eawt o’ th’ wayter.”
“Anyone else?”
Bessy stepped forward modestly.
“He wur put i’ moi arms on Tanners’ Bridge, an’ aw’ve browt him oop iver sin’.”
“Have you never sought for his parents?”
“Ay, mony a time. Matt an’ me have spent mony a day i’ seekin’ ’em,” said Simon promptly, “an’ we could fand no moore than that papper tells”—referring to a sheet in the questioning feoffee’s hand.