BARTLEY (with a deep sigh, and shaking his head slowly). Where is he, indeed?
MAGISTRATE. What have you to tell?
BARTLEY. It is where he was this morning, standing in this spot, singing his share of songs—no, but lighting his pipe—scraping a match on the sole of his shoe—
MAGISTRATE. I ask you, for the third time, where is he?
BARTLEY. I wouldn't like to say that. It is a great mystery, and it is hard to say of any man, did he earn hatred or love.
MAGISTRATE. Tell me all you know.
BARTLEY. All that I know—Well, there are the three estates; there is Limbo, and there is Purgatory, and there is—
MAGISTRATE. Nonsense! This is trifling! Get to the point.
BARTLEY. Maybe you don't hold with the clergy so? That is the teaching of the clergy. Maybe you hold with the old people. It is what they do be saying, that the shadow goes wandering, and the soul is tired, and the body is taking a rest—The shadow! (Starts up.) I was nearly sure I saw Jack Smith not ten minutes ago at the corner of the forge, and I lost him again—Was it his ghost I saw, do you think?
MAGISTRATE (to POLICEMAN). Conscience-struck! He will confess all now!