The farmer’s gin-dazed wits could only reply to this by a repeated, “ ’Twere a pauper’s throwaway; ’twere a workhouse six-foot and nothing!”

Mr. Torp’s voice rose higher still. “This Manley here were afeared to leave his mother in ground for a day without a stone on her. He were afeared the poor woman would come out on’s grave to tell tales on him, the old goatsucker! So while thik fine stone were lying in yard getting weathered-like, as is good for they foreign marbles, this girt vool of a nag’s head what must ’a do but drive hay-wagon to Chesil, and bring whoam a silly block o’ Portland, same as they fish-folk do cover their bones wi’, what have never seed a bit o’ marble!”