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Updated: June 13, 2025
Are ye quite sure Potts didna owerhear your conversation wi' Mistress Nutter?" "Why d'ye ask, Jem?" she replied. "Fro' summat the knave threw out to Squoire Nicholas just now," rejoined Jem. "He said he'd another case o' witchcraft nearer whoam. Whot could he mean?" "Whot, indeed?" cried Elizabeth, quickly. "Look at Tib," exclaimed her son.
Whot dun yo mean to do wi' 'em?" "Question me not, Zachariah," said the hag, sternly; "now give me some pieces of the mouldering coffin, and fill this box with the dust of the corpse it contained." The sexton complied with her request. "Now yo ha' getten aw yo seek, mother," he said, "ey wad pray you to tay your departure, fo' the berrin folk win be here presently."
"Aw's o'er wi' meh, Bess," he groaned; "but ey'd reyther dee thus, wi' thee besoide meh, than i' ony other wey." "Hush!" exclaimed Bess, "Nicholas is here." "Oh! ey see," replied the wounded man, looking round; "but whot matters it? Ey'st be gone soon. Ah, Bess, dear lass, if theawdst promise to break thy compact wi' Satan to repent and save thy precious sowl ey should dee content."
"Tak heed whot yo dun, squoire. If ey speak at aw, ey shan speak out, and to some purpose, ey'n warrant ye. If ey ge to Lonkester Castle, ey winna ge alone. Wan o' yer friends shan ge wi' me." "Cursed villain! I guess thy meaning," replied Nicholas; "but thy vindictive purposes will be frustrated.
"Eigh, we may allowance fo her feaw tempers," observed Susan Worseley; "fo we knoa that ailments an deformities are sure to may folk fretful." "Eigh, there it is," cried Jennet, sharply. "My high shoulthers an sma size are always thrown i' my feace. Boh ey'st grow tall i' time, an get straight eigh straighter than yo, Suky, wi' your broad back an short neck boh if ey dunna, whot matters it?
"Yeigh," replied Hal. "Whot han yo dun wi' t' steigh?" cried Ebil. "Never yo moind," returned Hal, "boh help t' abbut down." Paslew thought it vain to resist further, and with the help of Hal o' Nabs and the miller, and further aided by some irregularities in the wall, he was soon safely landed near the entrance of the passage. Abel fell on his knees, and pressed the abbot's hand to his lips.
The cat looked up, and mewed. "Protty Tib sweet Tib," continued the little girl, coaxingly. "Whot mun one do to be a witch like grandmother Demdike?" The cat again dashed twice or thrice madly round the room, and then stopping suddenly at the hearth, sprang up the chimney. "Ey'n frightened ye away ot onny rate," observed Jennet, laughing.
Poor Cuthbert Ashbead would ha' been here i'stead o' meh if he couldn; boh that accursed wizard, Nick Demdike, turned my hont agen him, an' drove t' poike head intended for himself into poor Cuthbert's side. They clapt meh i' a dungeon, boh Ebil monaged to get me out, an' ey then swore to do whot poor Cuthbert would ha' done, if he'd been livin' so here ey am, lort abbut, cum to set yo free.
"Whot would yo do?" demanded Elizabeth Device, sourly. "I'd make you rich, mother, and build you a grand house to live in," replied Alizon; "much grander than Browsholme, or Downham, or Middleton." "Pity yo're nah a queen then, Alizon," replied Elizabeth, relaxing her harsh features into a wintry smile. "Whot would ye do fo me, Alizon, if ye were a queen?" asked little Jennet, looking up at her.
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