"Not I," replied Toft; "it would be a good clearance to the neighborhood to get rid o' th' old croaking curmudgeon."
Whether or not Peter overheard the conversation, we pretend not to say, but at that moment a blaze of lightning showed him staring fiercely at the group.
"As I live, he's overheard you, Simon," exclaimed Plant. "I wouldn't be in your skin for a trifle."
"Nor I," added Burtenshaw.
"Let him overhear me," answered Toft; "who cares? he shall hear summat worth listening to. I'm not afraid o' him or his arts, were they as black as Beelzebuth's own; and to show you I'm not, I'll go and have a crack with him on the spot."
"Thou'rt a fool for thy pains, if thou dost, Friend Toft," returned Plant, "that's all I can say."
"Be advised by me, and stay here," seconded Burtenshaw, endeavoring to hold him back.
But Toft would not be advised—
Kings may be blest, but he was glorious,
O'er all the ills of life victorious.
Staggering up to Peter, he laid a hard grasp upon his shoulder, and, thus forcibly soliciting his attention, burst into a loud horse-laugh.