skew.
I bowse no lage, but one whole gage
O' this I'll bowse to you----"

"Stow the chaunting, Jerry!" growled the hoarse voice, "close up that
ugly gan o' yourn. Oliver's awake----"

"Oliver? Aye, so 'tis with a curse on't! The moon's no friend o'
mine. Gimme a black night, darkmans wi' a popper i' my famble and
t'other in my cly and I'm your cull, ecod!" Here the door of the
cottage swung open and two men entered, the one a tall, wild,
gipsy-looking fellow, the other a shortish man in spurred boots and
long riding-coat from the side-pockets of which protruded the
brass-heeled butts of a pair of pistols.

"What, Benno, my lad--what Benno," he cried, scowling round the dismal
room beneath the cock of his weatherbeaten hat, "blind me, but here's a
plaguy dog-hole for a genty-cove o' the high-toby!"

"O, the high pad is a delicate trade
And a delicate trade o' fame
We bite the cully of his cole
And carry away his game
Oho, and carry away----"

"Quit, Jerry, quit!" growled the man Benno. "Hold that dasher o' yourn
won't 'ee----"

"No, Benno my cove, if I do ha' a mind for t' sing, I'll sing and burn
all, says I!"

"I keep my prancer and two pepps
A tattle in my cly.
When bowsing----"

"Keep your chaffer still, won't 'ee!" snarled the other. "'Swounds, a
pal can't hear hisself! Ha, Bet!" he roared, "old Bet--what grannam,
oho--lights, more lights here!"

"Lights--aye," nodded Jerry, "lights inside's well enough but lights
outside's the devil! Look at Oliver, look at th' moon, well--curse th'
moon says I and--O ecod! What's yon i' the corner? A ladder as I'm a
roaring boy--a ladder! Well, here's to see what's above. A doxy, aha,
a dimber-dell, oho--"

"When my dimber-dell I courted
She had youth and beauty too----"

As he sang he whipped a pistol from his pocket and lurched towards the
ladder; and Sergeant Zebedee, watching through one of the many
crevices, smiled happily and drew his bayonet. Jerry had one foot on
the ladder when his companion caught his shoulder and swung him roughly
away.

"How now?" he demanded. "What's your ploy?"

"Look'ee Benno, if you're a-hiding of some dimber mort aloft there I'm
the cove to----"

"Ah, you're lushed, Jerry, foxed t' your peepers, sit down--sit down
and put away your popp--afore I crack your mazzard!"

Sulkily enough Jerry obeyed and seating himself at the table turned,
ever and anon, to view the l