"And lose good customers," Mr. Swain added laconically.
The butcher wriggled.
"Your honours must know there be little selling when the gentry be out of town. And I was to take a holiday to-day, to see my daughter married."
"You will have a feast, my good man?" Captain Daniel asked.
"To be sure, your honour, a feast."
"And any little ewe-lambs?" says Mr. Bordley, very innocent.
Master Chipchase turned the colour of his meat, and his wit failed him.
"'Fourthly,'" recited Mr. Carroll, with an exceeding sober face, "'Fourthly, that we will not kill, or suffer to be killed, or sell, or dispose to any person whom we have reason to believe intends to kill, any ewe-lamb that shall be weaned before the first day of May, in any year during the time aforesaid.' Have you ever heard anything of that sound, Mr. Chipchase?"
Mr. Chipchase had. And if their honours pleased, he had a defence to make, if their honours would but listen. And if their honours but knew, he was as good a patriot as any in the province, and sold his wool to Peter Psalter, and he wore the homespun in winter. Then Mr. Carroll drew a paper from his pocket, and began to read: "Mr. Thomas Hincks, personally known to me, deposeth and saith,—"
Master Chipchase's knees gave from under him.