Then with an effort he restrained his sobs, and lifting a red,
swollen, tear-stained face he stammered out: "Master Lampard, did I ever
ask 'ee a favour in my life?"
"What be after now?" said the other suspiciously. "Well, no, Johnnie,
not as I remember."
"An' do 'ee think I'll ever come back home again, Master Lampard?"
"Maybe no, maybe yes; 'tis not for me to say."
"But 'ee knows 'tis a hanging matter?"
"'Tis that for sure. But you be a young man with a wife and childer, and
have never done no wrong before--not that I ever heard say. Maybe the
judge'll recommend you to mercy. What do you say, Daddy?"
The old man only made some inarticulate sounds in his beard, without
turning his head.
"But, Master Lampard, suppose I don't swing, they'll send I over the
water and I'll never see the wife and children no more."
"Maybe so; I'm thinking that's how 'twill be."
"Then will 'ee do me a kindness? 'Tis the only one I ever asked 'ee, and
there'll be no chance to ask 'ee another."
"I can't say, Johnnie, not till I know what 'tis you want."
"'Tis only this, Master Lampard. When we git to th' old thorn let me out
o' the cart and let me stand under it one minnit and no more.
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