"Stubble it, you ben, you deserve to cly the jerk for your patter; come
in, and be d--d to you."

Upon this invitation, Jonson, seizing me by the arm, pushed me into the
house, and followed. "Go for a glim, Bess, to light in the parish bull
with proper respect. I'll close the gig of the crib."

At this order, delivered in an authoritative tone, the old woman,
mumbling "strange oaths" to herself, moved away; when she was out of
hearing, Job whispered,

"Mark, I shall leave the bolts undrawn, the door opens with a latch,
which you press thus--do not forget the spring; it is easy, but peculiar;
should you be forced to run for it, you will also remember, above all,
when you are out of the door, to turn to the right and go straight
forwards."

The old woman now reappeared with a light, and Jonson ceased, and moved
hastily towards her: I followed. The old woman asked whether the door had
been carefully closed, and Jonson, with an oath at her doubts of such a
matter, answered in the affirmative.

We proceeded onwards, through a long and very narrow passage, till Bess
opened a small door to the left, and introduced us into a large room,
which, to my great dismay, I found already occupied by four men, who were
sitting, half immersed in smoke, by an oak table, with a capacious bowl
of hot liquor before them. At the back ground of this room, which
resembled the kitchen of a public house, was an enormous skreen, of
antique fashion; a low fire burnt sullenly in the grate, and beside it