God bless the man as made un doo it.' 'Have they hanged one of the Doones then, John ?' 'Hush, lad; niver talk laike o' thiccy.

Hang a Doone! God knoweth, the King would hang pretty quick if her did.' 'Then who is it in the chains, John ?' I felt my spirit rise as I asked; for now I had crossed Exmoor so often as to hope that the people sometimes deserved it, and think that it might be a lesson to the rogues who unjustly loved the mutton they were never born to.

But, of course, they were born to hanging, when they set themselves so high.
'It be nawbody,' said John, 'vor us to make a fush about.

Belong to t'other zide o' the moor, and come staling shape to our zide.

Red Jem Hannaford his name.