"A babe," said she, "mustn't be shaken after feeding;" then, "a babe mustn't be allowed to get its little feet cold, or gripes comes;" then, "you must mind and carry it with the head to your shoulder, and away from the wind." Presently another item occurred to the good woman, as the men left their places at the table: "You must hold the child on your arm, between the wrist and the elbow-jint."
As they went to the door she called, "And never be without a drop o' dill water: it's comforting to babies."
As they made their exit—"And when nussin', mind, no green meat nor fruit."
When all had departed the landlady turned to the man by the fire, who still wore his sarcastic smirk, and said "Bideabout! What do you think of they?"
"I think," answered the Broom-Squire, "that I never saw three such cut-throat rascals as those who have gone off with the sailor; and as for him—I take he's softish."
"I thought him a bit of a natural."
"He must be so to start on one of the lonesomest roads in England, at fall of night, with such a parcel of jailbirds."
"Well, dear life!" exclaimed the good woman. "I hope nothing will hap' to the poor child."
"Mother," said the boy, timidly, "it's not true is it about the spirits of babies in the wind?"
"Of course it is. Where would you have them go? and they bain't Christians. Hark! I won't say there be none flying about now. I fancy I hear a sort of a kind o' whistling."