Jane. Alas! who ever seed a booted pedler?
Prisoner. Had he these very shoes on? Look at them.
Jane. I couldn't say for that. He had shoon, for they did properly clatter on my bricks.
Judge. Clatter on her bricks! What in the world does she mean?
Prisoner. I think she means on the floor of her kitchen. 'T is a brick floor, if I remember right.
Judge. Good woman, say, is that what you mean?
Jane. Ay, an 't please you, my lord.
Prisoner. Had the pedler a mole on his forehead?
Jane. Not that I know on. I never took so much notice of the man. But, la, dame, now I look at you, I don't believe you was ever the one to murder our master.
Wiltshire. We don't want your opinion. Confine yourself to facts.