“Nay, nay, laal man, that's mair ner ony on us knows for certain.” “But ye have a notion on it, have ye not?” said Reuben, with a twinkle which was intended to flatter Matthew into a communicative spirit.
“I reckon I hev,” said the weaver, with a look of self-satisfaction.
“Did Ralph understand it?” asked Monsey.
“Not he, schoolmaister. If he did, I could mak' nowt on him, for I asked him theer and then.”
“But ye knows yersel' what the warrant meant, don't ye?” said Reuben significantly.
“Weel, man, it's all as I telt ye; the country's going to the dogs, and young Charles he's cutting the heed off nigh a'most iv'ry man as fought for Oliver agen him. And it's as I telt ye aboot the spies of the government, there's a spy ivrywhear—maybe theer's yan here now—and auld Wilson he was nowt ner mair ner less ner a spy, and he meant to get a warrant for Ralph Ray, and that's the lang and short on it.”
“I reckon Sim made the short on it,” said Reuben with a smirk. “He scarce knew what a good turn he was doing for young Ralph yon neet in Martinmas.”
“But don't they say Ralph saved Wilson's life away at the wars?” said Monsey. “Why could he want to inform against him and have him hanged?”
“A dog winnet yowl an ye hit him with a bone, but a spy is worse ner ony dog,” answered Matthew sententiously.
“But why could he wish to do it?”