"I shall be a Moor-man, too, and enjoy rights of Venville," he said, more to himself than to the woman.
"'Tis a wicked thing and flat robbery," she repeated. "All the countryside be raw under it; but for what count the rights of the poor? All the best of the Moor—all the best strolls for grazing, where the grass be greenest—all the lew spots—all stolen away one after t'other an' barred against the lawful commoners; an' not a hand lifted. That hill be where my cows do graze an' roam. Now you'll drive 'em from their proper lairs, an' they'll have to bide on the coarse grass, an' I'll be stinted of milk, as is my poor livelihood."
"You'll still have enough to fill the amphora," said Maurice Malherb; then he turned to the boy.
"Bring you my horse, lad. The storm is past. I can get on to Tor Royal now."
"An' tell Tyrwhitt what I tell you," said Lavey, "that him an' the rest be no better'n a pack of thieves an' cadgers. 'Tis a hanging matter if us steals the goose from the common; but nobody says nought when the upper people steal the common from the goose. There'll come a day of reckoning for Duchy yet—an' Tyrwhitt too!"
She stood and watched him mount, with her bent head thrust out of the door, like a gigantic fowl looking out of a pen.
Malherb made no answer, but turned to the boy.
"There's a crown for you, youngster, and I wish you a better grandmother."
He went his way and the old woman twitched her long nose and stared after him.
"Born fool—born fool—to waste what he've got left on this here wilderness. An' so awful nigh to my——" She broke off and turned to the boy, John.