“God bless you, dear! And see now, come home while the sun is warm––and take care of yourself, Denas.”
Then Joan went to the curing-sheds. She had a light heart, for Denas was more like her old self, and after going a hundred yards she turned to nod to her girl, and was glad that she was watching her and that she waved her kerchief in reply. Something heavy slipped from Joan’s heart at that moment and her work went with her all day long.
It was two miles to St. Clair, but Denas walked there very rapidly. She remembered that Pyn’s cottage was the first cottage; and as she approached it the boatman came to the door. He looked at her with a grave curiosity, and she went straight up to him and said: “Have you a letter for me?”
“I do think I have. You be John Penelles’ little girl?”
“Yes.”
“I knew John years ago. We sat in the same boat. I like John––he is a true man. Here be three 74 letters. At first I thought these letters be going to bring a deal of potter and bother––maybe something worse––and I will put them in the fire. Then I thought, they bean’t your letters, Pyn, and if you want to keep yourself out of a mess, never interfere and never volunteer. So here they be. But if you will take an old man’s advice, I do say to you, burn the letters. It will be better far than to be reading them.”
“Why will it be better?”
“There be letters worse than death drugs. If you do buy a bottle of arsenic, the man will put its character on the bottle. You see ‘poison’ and you be warned. But young men do write poison, and worse than poison, to young women, and no warning outside the letter. It isn’t fair, now, is it?”
“Why did you take charge of the poison?”
“To be sure! Why did I? Just because it was for John Penelles’ little girl, and I thought mayhap she’d take a warning from me. Don’t you read them letters, my dear. If you do, let the words go in at one ear and out of the other. Roland Tresham! he be nothing to trust to! Aw, my dear––a leaky boat––a boat adrift; no man at the helm; no helm to man; no sail; no compass; no anchor; no anything for a woman to trust to! There, then, I have had my say; if this say be of no ’count, twould be the same if I talked my tongue away. If you come again and there be any letters, you will find them under the turned boat––slip your hand in––so. Dear me! You be fluttering and wuttering like a bird. Poor dear! Step into my boat and I’ll put 75 you back home. You look as quailed as a faded flower.”