"I wonder," said Lavinia musingly.
"Well now, let me take in the clothes an' we'll have a dish o' tea an' a bite and then you shall sing your song."
"Yes, and I'll help you with the clothes."
Lavinia's offer pleased Betty, and the two were soon busy pulling the various garments and bits of drapery from the lines and gathering from the grass others that had been set to bleach in the wind and sun. This done they entered the cottage. The window was small and the light dim. A white-haired old woman was warming her hands and crooning over a wood fire.
"Eh, mother," cried Betty, "I've brought someone to sing to ye. 'Lodgin' on the Cold Ground,' do ye remember that old ditty?"
"Do I mind it? Why, to be sure. But who sings it now-a-days? Nobody."
"Well, ye're going to hear it, and ye'll have to say if this young miss here trolls it as well as Moll Davies used to."
"What stuff ye be talkin', Betty," retorted the old woman. "Nobody can. I can remember my mistress a-singin' it as well as if it was only yesterday."
"Do ye hear that—I've forgotten what name Hannah told me yours was?"
"Lavinia Fenton. But please call me Lavinia."