I might a spoke out anytime this year, only the old man kept me quiet with money; but now it's nigh too late!" "What might you have spoken about ?" asked the Vicar.
"Well, I'll just relate the matter to you," said the man, speaking fast and thick, "and I'll speak the truth.

A twelvemonth agone, this Madge and me had a fierce quarrel, and I miscalled her awful, and told her of some things she wasn't aware I knew of; and then she said, 'If ever a word of that escapes your lips, I'll put such a spell on ye that your bones shall shake apart.' Then I says, if you do, your bastard son shall swing." "Who do you mean by her bastard son ?" "Young George Hawker.

He is not the son of old Mrs.Hawker! Madge was brought to bed of him a fortnight before her mistress; and when she bore a still-born child, old Hawker and I buried it in the wood, and we gave Madge's child to Mrs.Hawker, who never knew the difference before she died." "On the word of a dying man, is that true ?" demanded the Vicar.
"On the word of a dying man that's true, and this also.

I says to Madge, 'Your boy shall swing, for I know enough to hang him.' And she said, 'Where are your proofs ?' and I--O Lord! O Lord! she's at me again." He sank down again in a paroxysm of shivering, and they got no more from him.

Enough there was, however, to make the Vicar a very silent and thoughtful man, as he sat watching the sick man in the close stifling room.
"You had better go home, Vicar," said the Doctor; "you will make yourself ill staying here.