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Then followed the christenings, and another marshalling (this time of godfathers and godmothers, with the infants they presented), in which the hasty chaplain did his part with hands and voice until all were arranged to his satisfaction.

It so happened that the tanner’s group and the lady’s group were ranked side by side. The latter was Mrs. Aspinall, the wife of a wealthy cotton merchant, who, with two other gentlemen and a lady, stood behind her, and this time gave her their much-needed support. Indeed, what with the damp and chillness of the church, and the agitation, the delicate lady appeared ready to faint.

“Hath this child been already baptised or no?” asked Joshua Brookes, and was passing on, when Simon’s unexpected response arrested him.

“Aw dunnot know.”

“Don’t know? How’s that? What are you here for?” were questions huddled one on the other, in a broader vernacular than I have thought well to put in the mouth of a man so deeply learned.

“Whoi, yo’ see, this is the choilt as wur weshed deawn th’ river wi’ th’ flood in a kayther; an’ o’ belungin’ th’ lad are deead, an’ aw mun kirsen him to mak’ o’ sure.”