“Ay, lass; and to read his holy books wi'. A neighbour o' mine saw his hand come out, and the birds sat thereon and pecked crumbs. She went for to kiss it, but the holy man whippit it away in a trice. They can't abide a woman to touch 'en, or even look at 'em, saints can't.”
“What like was his hand, wife? Did you ask her?”
“What is my tongue for, else? Why, dear heart, all one as yourn; by the same token a had a thumb and four fingers.”
“Look ye there now.”
“But a deal whiter nor yourn and mine.”
“Ay, ay.”
“And main skinny.”
“Alas.”
“What could ye expect? Why, a live upon air, and prayer, and candles.”
“Ah, well,” continued Joan; “poor thing, I whiles think 'tis best for her to know the worst. And now she hath gotten a voice from heaven, Or almost as good, and behoves her pray for his soul. One thing, she is not so poor now as she was; and never fell riches to a better hand; and she is only come into her own for that matter, so she can pay the priest to say masses for him, and that is a great comfort.”