"Indeed, I expected to find him here," she stammered, "Oh! I hope nothing has happened to him."
"Now, don't 'ee fret thyself, sweet marjoram," said the ancient one, humming round her like a bee. "A'most anything might have happened to him on such a dreadful night."
"Don't 'ee hark to the ancient dodderer," interrupted the dodderer's wife.
"Killed by a falling tree, withered to a cinder by bloody lightning."
"You alarm me," exclaimed Phyllida, jumping up.
"Hold thy ancient foolish tongue," commanded Mrs. Tabrum peremptorily, "and go see that Mary Maria keeps the fowls turning a while yet."
"Very well, my gillyflower, very well," piped senility, "but don't 'ee take on, my little blue love-in-a-mist, happen 'tis no more than a broken leg has overtook your husband."
"Polly," said Mrs. Tabrum, who saw that Phyllida was on the verge of tears, "take thy ancient master away. Hark," she finished, with an impressive forefinger.
"What are us to hark to, pretty pink?"
"Ef I doant hear a great tom-cat a-scratching in the tulips, my name be'ant Dorothy Ann Tabrum."