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Then Bill Jones went back to bed, and Joe Barlcomb, arter sitting down on the doorstep to rest 'imself, went off and knocked up Peter Lamb. Peter Lamb was a little man and no good as a fighter, but the things he said to Joe Barlcomb as he leaned out o' the winder and shook 'is fist at him was 'arder to bear than blows.
"Being as I was passing, I just thought I'd look in," ses Joe Barlcomb, eyeing the cats. "Take a chair," ses Mrs. Prince, getting up and dusting one down with 'er apron. Joe sat down. "I'm in a bit o' trouble, ma'am," he ses, "and I thought p'r'aps as you could help me out of it. My pore pig's been bewitched, and it's dead." "Bewitched?" ses Mrs. Prince, who'd 'eard of 'is ideas. "Rubbish.
None of 'em seemed to be in a hurry. Bill Jones took it up and bit it, and rang it on the table and squinted at it, and then he bit it agin, and turned round and asked Joe Barlcomb wot was wrong with it. "Wrong?" ses Joe; "nothing." Bill Jones put it down agin. "You're wide awake, Joe," he ses, "but so am I." "Won't nobody give me a ha'penny for it?" ses Joe, looking round.
"Then you must borrow one that does," ses Mrs. Prince, "and when it strikes twelve you must go round to each o' them six men and sell them a ha'penny for a shilling." Joe Barlcomb looked at 'er. "'Ow?" he ses, short-like. "Same way as you sold 'em a shilling for a ha'-penny," ses Mrs. Prince; "it don't matter whether they buy the ha'pennies or not.
The last bit of it I remember was about forty years ago, and that wasn't so much witchcraft as foolishness. There was a man in this place then Joe Barlcomb by name who was a firm believer in it, and 'e used to do all sorts of things to save hisself from it. He was a new-comer in Claybury, and there was such a lot of it about in the parts he came from that the people thought o' nothing else hardly.
Joe Barlcomb thanked 'er, and with the bottle in 'is pocket went off to the Cauliflower, whistling. Bill Jones was there, and Peter Lamb, and two or three more of 'em, and at fust they said some pretty 'ard things to him about being woke up in the night. "Don't bear malice, Bill," ses Joe Barlcomb; "'ave a pint with me."
Prince stood in the doorway with a cat on each shoulder and watched 'im till 'e was out of sight. That night Joe Barlcomb came up to this 'ere Cauliflower public-house, same as he'd been told, and by-and-by, arter he 'ad 'ad a pint, he looked round, and taking a shilling out of 'is pocket put it on the table, and he ses, "Who'll give me a ha'penny for that?" he ses.
"It's me Joe Barlcomb," ses Joe, "and I want to speak to you very partikler." "Well, speak away," ses Bill. "You go into the back room," he ses, turning to his wife. "Whaffor?" ses Mrs. Jones. "'Cos I don't know wot Joe is going to say," ses Bill. "You go in now, afore I make you."
"Then you must borrow one that does," ses Mrs. Prince, "and when it strikes twelve you must go round to each o' them six men and sell them a ha'penny for a shilling." Joe Barlcomb looked at 'er. "'Ow?" he ses, short-like. "Same way as you sold 'em a shilling for a ha'-penny," ses Mrs. Prince; "it don't matter whether they buy the ha'pennies or not.
Prince got up from 'er chair and looked round for the broom she'd been sweeping with, but, not finding it, she set down agin and stared in a curious sort o' way at Joe Barlcomb. "Oh, I see," she ses, nodding. "Fancy you guessing I was a witch." "You can't deceive me," ses Joe; "I've 'ad too much experience; I knew it the fust time I saw you by the mole on your nose." Mrs.