"And the baby?" asked Iver.
"Oh, bother the baby. We want to see the dead man."
"I wonder, now, where they'll take him to?" asked the mother.
"Shall we have him here?"
"I don't mind," said the father. "Then he'll be inquitched here; but I don't want no baby."
"Nor do I nuther," said the woman. "Stay a moment, Betsy Anne! I'm coming. Oh, my! whatever have I done to my stocking, it's tore right across."
"Take the child to Bideabout," said one young man, "we want no babies here, but we'll have the corpse, and welcome. Folks will come and make a stir about that. But we won't have no babies. Take that child back where you found it."
"Babies!" said another, scornfully, "they come thick as blackberries, and bitter as sloes. But corpses—and they o' murdered men—them's coorosities."
"But the baby?" again asked the boy.