A flush passed over her face, making it rosy red; then she said, with the curiously imperious manner which I had so often before noticed:
"I am going there some time: I have to go."
She turned once more to the chickens, silently this time; and her manner, as plainly as possible, forbade me to question her. No child had ever impressed me in this way before. It was not that she was unchildlike nor what might be called old-fashioned; but she had that about her which was partly the effect, no doubt, of the peculiar deference with which she was treated by the blind woman and by Niall the wanderer.
"I suppose I may see Granny?" I remarked; and she answered:
"Oh, yes! She will be very glad. She is always in there near the hearth."
I was glad that Winifred showed no disposition at the moment to abandon her occupation of feeding the fowls; for I wanted to have at least a few words with good Mrs. Meehan on the subject of Winifred's association with the grotesque personage whom local tradition seemed to invest with unusual if not unholy powers. I passed through the stone passage, and, entering the square room, found the blind woman, as before, in statuesque attitude near the hearth, where on this occasion no fire was burning, its place being filled by an enormous bunch of clover, placed there by Winifred. The blind woman recognized me the moment I spoke.
"You're heartily welcome, ma'am!" said she, smiling; and we went on to exchange a few commonplaces about the weather and so forth.
It was a still day without, and we heard every once in a while the voice of Winifred calling out her commands to the fowls; and presently she was in conversation with some one whom Mrs. Meehan explained to be Moira, their little maid-of-all-work.