"You silly zany! They don't want you!"
Bart grinned.
"He be after Madge--eh?"
"Wait till you'm daft for something in a petticoat yourself, then you'll understand--eh, mother?"
"I suppose so, master. We shall lose 'em both, without a doubt; 'tis Nature," she said.
Meantime Margaret and David climbed into the gloaming on Coombeshead Tor, and she talked to him, and for the first time let him know how much the wonderful granite masses of this hill meant to her.
"I was born on the farm, you know, and this place was my playground ever since I could run alone. A very lonely little girl, because Bart was six year older than me, and mother never had none but us. I never had no toys or nothing of that sort; but these gerstones was my dollies, and I used to give 'em names, an' play along with 'em, an' sleep among 'em when I was tired. That fond of chattering I was, that I must be talking if 'twas only to the stones! Never was a cheel cut out for minding babies like me; and yet I've not had a baby to mind in my life!"
He listened and enjoyed her voice, but felt not much emotion at what she told him.
"So these boulders were my babies; an' now this one took a cold and wanted nursing; an' now this one was tired and I had to sing it to sleep. And I'd bring 'em flowers an' teach 'em their lessons, an' put 'em to bed an' all the rest of it. They all had their names too, I warrant you!"
"'Twas a very clever game to think upon," he said.