"And why--why did he do it?" I asked.
"Because 'e 'ad to, o' course--it's jest the loneliness.
They'll find me some day, danglin'--I never could abide 'blood
myself--danglin' to the thing as looks like a oak tree in
the daytime."
"What do you mean?" said I.
The Pedler sighed, shook his head, and shouldered his brooms.
"It's jest the loneliness!" said he, and, spitting over this
shoulder, trudged upon his way.