“Why, you must know, Frank—but first taste a snap of right Hollands.” She drew a flask from her pocket, and filled the fellow a large bumper, which he pronounced to be the right thing.—“You must know, then, Frank—wunna ye mend your hand?” again offering the flask.
“No, no,—when a woman wants mischief from you, she always begins by filling you drunk. D—n all Dutch courage. What I do I will do soberly—I’ll last the longer for that too.”
“Well, then, you must know,” resumed the old woman, without any further attempts at propitiation, “that this girl is going to London.”
Here Jeanie could only distinguish the word sister.
The robber answered in a louder tone, “Fair enough that; and what the devil is your business with it?”
“Business enough, I think. If the b—queers the noose, that silly cull will marry her.”
“And who cares if he does?” said the man.
“Who cares, ye donnard Neddie! I care; and I will strangle her with my own hands, rather than she should come to Madge’s preferment.”
“Madge’s preferment! Does your old blind eyes see no farther than that? If he is as you say, dye think he’ll ever marry a moon-calf like Madge? Ecod, that’s a good one—Marry Madge Wildfire!—Ha! ha! ha!”
“Hark ye, ye crack-rope padder, born beggar, and bred thief!” replied the hag, “suppose he never marries the wench, is that a reason he should marry another, and that other to hold my daughter’s place, and she crazed, and I a beggar, and all along of him? But I know that of him will hang him—I know that of him will hang him, if he had a thousand lives—I know that of him will hang—hang—hang him!”