“Maybe you’re a stranger to these parts?” observed the girl.
“Quite a stranger. Don’t even know where I am or the name of this place.”
“Ye be London-bred and London-born if I aint mistaken?”
“You are quite correct in your surmise. I am a Cockney. That’s what you country people term us Londoners.”
The girl gave a broad grin and a chuckle at this last observation.
“I dunno how you could manage to rest in such a place as that,” said she, nodding with her head towards the barn.
“There was no help for it, my good girl; beggars must not be choosers, you know. But I say—listen to me a moment,” added Laura, slipping a shilling into the maid’s hand—“can you tell me, like a kind, good girl, as I am sure you are, where I can get a conveyance about here—a post-chaise, or something of that sort? It matters not what it is.”
“Where ee goin’ too, then?”
“I want to get to the nearest station. How far might that be off?”
“Well, better nor five miles—not a morsel less.”