Well, When The
People Heard The Story, And Saw His Nose With The Bater's Leaf Upon
It, They At First
Began to laugh, but when he appealed to their
consciences, and asked them if such was fitting tratement for a
Praist, they said it was not, and that if he would only but curse
me, they would soon do him justice upon me. His reverence then
cursed by book, bell, and candle, and the people, setting off from
the chapel, came in a crowd to the house where I lived, to wrake
vengeance upon me. Overtaking my son by the way, who was coming
home in a state of intoxication, they bate him within an inch of
his life, and left him senseless on the ground, and no doubt would
have served me much worse, only seeing them coming, and guessing
what they came about, though I was a bit intoxicated myself, I
escaped by the back of the house out into the bog, where I hid
myself amidst a copse of hazels. The people coming to the house,
and not finding me there, broke and destroyed every bit of
furniture, and would have pulled the house down, or set fire to it,
had not an individual among them cried out that doing so would be
of no use, for that the house did not belong to me, and that
destroying it would merely be an injury to the next tenant. So the
people, after breaking my furniture and ill-trating two or three
dumb beasts, which happened not to have been made away with, went
away, and in the dead of night I returned to the house, where I
found my son, who had just crawled home covered wit bruises.
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