Heywood began,
'on a cold, stormy night, there came to the hall-door a poor
pedlar,'--a travelling merchant, you know, my leddy--'with his pack
on his back, and would fain have parted with some of his goods to
the folk of the hall. The butler, who must have been a rough sort of
man--they were rough times those--told him they wanted nothing he
could give them, and to go about his business. But the man, who was
something obstinate, I dare say, and, it may weel be, anxious to get
shelter, as much for the nicht bein' gurly as to sell his goods,
keepit on beggin' an' implorin' to lat the women-folk at the least
luik at what he had broucht. At last the butler, oot o' a' patience
wi' the man, ga'e him a great shove awa' frae the door, sae that the
poor man fell doon the steps, an' bangt the door to, nor ever lookit
to see whether the man gat up again or no.
"'I' the mornin' the pedlar they faund him lyin' deid in a little
wud or shaw, no far frae the hoose. An' wi' that up got the cry, an'
what said they but that the butler had murdert him! Sae up he was
ta'en an' put upo' 's trial for't. An' whether the man was not likit
i' the country-side, I cannot tell,' said the gentleman, 'but the
cry was against him, and things went the wrong way for him--and that
though no one aboot the hoose believed he had done the deed, more
than he micht hae caused his death by pushin' him doon the steps.
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