“Tut, what's it to thee?”
“Ay, but it is something to me, say I.”
“Tush, thou'rt yan of the wise asses.”
“If these constables,” lurching his head, “if they come back, as they say, to take Ralph, I'll have no hand in't.”
“And why did ye help them this turn?” said Mrs. Garth, with an elevation of her heavy eyebrows.
“Because I knew nowt of what they were after. If I'd but known that it were for—for—him—”
“Hod thy tongue. Thou wad mak a priest sweer,” said Mrs. Garth. The words rolled within her teeth.
“I heard what they said of the warrant, mother,” said Joe; “it were the same warrant, I reckon, as old Mattha's always preaching aboot, and it's missing, and it seems to me that they want to make out as Ray—as Ralph—”
“Wilt ye never hod yer bletheren tongue?” said Mrs. Garth in a husky whisper. Then in a mollified temper she added,—
“An what an they do, laddie; what an they do? Did ye not hear yersel that it were yan o' the Rays—yan o' them; and what's the odds which—what's the odds, I say—father and son, they were both of a swatch.”