. . .So up to London we came; for says Robert: “They’ll let us starve here, for aught I can see: they’ll do naught for us; let us do something for ourselves.”  So up we came; and when all’s said, we had better have lain down and died in the grey cottage clean and empty.  I dream of it yet at whiles: clean, but no longer empty; the crockery on the dresser, the flitch hanging from the rafters, the pot on the fire, the smell of new bread about; and the children fat and ruddy tumbling about in the sun; and my lad coming in at the door stooping his head a little; for our door is low, and he was a tall handsome chap in those days.—But what’s the use of talking?  I’ve said enough: I didn’t steal the loaves—and if I had a done, where was the harm?

J. N.  Enough, woman?  Yes, and far more than enough.  You are an undefended prisoner.  You have not the advantage of counsel, or I would not have allowe. . . Read More