'I happened to attend Lewes Market next Woden's Day even,
and watched the slaves being sold there - same as pigs are sold at
Robertsbridge Market nowadays. Only, the pigs have rings on
their noses, and the slaves had rings round their necks.'

'What sort of rings?' said Dan.

'A ring of Cold Iron, four fingers wide, and a thumb thick, just
like a quoit, but with a snap to it for to snap round the slave's
neck. They used to do a big trade in slave-rings at the Forge here,
and ship them to all parts of Old England, packed in oak sawdust.
But, as I was saying, there was a farmer out of the Weald who had
bought a woman with a babe in her arms, and he didn't want any
encumbrances to her driving his beasts home for him.'

'Beast himself!' said Una, and kicked her bare heel on the gate.

'So he blamed the auctioneer. "It's none o' my baby," the
wench puts in. "I took it off a woman in our gang who died on
Terrible Down yesterday." "I'll take it off to the church then,"
says the farmer. "Mother Church'll make a monk of it, and we'll
step along home."

'It was dusk then. He slipped down to St Pancras' Church, and
laid the babe at the cold chapel door. I breathed on the back of his
stooping neck - and - I've heard he never could be warm at any fire
afterwards. I should have been surprised if he could! Then I
whipped up the babe, and came flying home here like a bat to his
belfry.