“I didn’t let it; it braked of itself,” she sobbed. “If you saw the black-beedles we gets here of a night, sir, you’d be fit to dance a hornpipe, you would. The floor be covered with ’em.”

“If the ceiling was covered with ’em too, I wouldn’t have that[68] there dangerous stuff brought into the place—and so I’ve telled ye often,” roared Dovey.

“It’s frightful uncomfortable, is black-beedles; mother knows it,” said his wife, in a subdued voice—for Dovey in great things was master. “I thought if I just sprinkled a bit on’t down, it ’ud take ’em away, and couldn’t hurt nobody.”

“And you went off on the sly that there Tuesday night and bought it,” he retorted; “and come back and telled me you had been to Reed’s helping to physic the babies.”

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