Gammer Grepe was at home and in her garden. She stood with her arms folded on the gate, and Cramphorn observed that she smoked a clay pipe with the manner of long experience. He asked civilly for a little conversation and followed the old woman into her cottage.
"Walk in an' welcome, if there's any money to it," she said bluntly. "'Tis 'bout them gals again, I s'pose. Tu gert a handful for 'e, eh? You'm a fule to fret, for they'll go theer ways wi'out axin' your leave. Be your peas a-come to the farm? Might let 'em knaw as I've got half a quart or so, if Mrs. Stapledon fancies 'em."
"Ess, our peas be come, an' it 'idden 'bout my darters I'm here; an' fule or no fule, it takes two to make a weddin'; an' if the proper chap ban't on-coming, us have got to sit down an' wait, like nesseltripe. I be here touching the mistress of Endicott's."
Cherry frowned.
"I've no word against her, as you knaw, but the rest of 'em—that auld blind piece an' her husband—specially him—I doan't set no store by. She'm what a Endicott should be. T'others I'd so soon ill-wish as not—just to larn 'em the things they doan't believe."
Her eyes glimmered with anger, and the candlelight played pranks with her aged but not venerable face.
"Well, 'tis peace rather than war so far as I'm consarned. I know what you can do—who better?"
"Ess; an' for all theer hard words I'd rather starve than hurt Endicott's. 'Tis his loss, not mine—this furriner she've married. Not but what I might to-morrow——"
"'Tis the very thing I be come upon," interrupted Jonah eagerly. "Her—the mistress. What do this green youth by name of Mathers knaw? If he'd got the wit of a louse he'd never have let the cheel slip through his fingers. But her—she'll slip through his fingers next."
"Ban't no doctor's job now," said Cherry. "The things that could cure her trouble doan't come out of shops. For tearings of heart, an' black night vapours, an' such-like deep ills the very herbs o' the fields are vain. You want sterner food."