“I reckon you don't think I come on a visit of perliteness?” she said sharply, after a brief silence.
I murmured something about being glad to entertain her at any time.
“Nonsense!” she sniffed. “I'm a vile old woman that the likes of you would never put eyes on twice if it wasn't for your business—none knows it better than me. I don't know why I should put myself out to help ye.” Her tone had a touch of pathos under its hardness.
“I know why,” I said, a little touched. “It's because you like me.”
She turned a softened eye on me.
“You're right,” she said almost tenderly, with a flash of womanly feeling on her seamed and evil face. “I've took a fancy to ye and no mistake, and I'd risk something to help ye.”
“I knew you would,” I said heartily.
“And that's what I come to do,” she said, with a sparkle of pleasure in her eye. “I've come to warn ye.”
“New dangers?” I inquired cheerfully. My prudence suggested that I had better omit any mention of the warning from Dicky Nahl.
“The same ones,” said Mother Borton shortly, “only more of 'em.”