"I'll wait for you," he said, "don't be long. But there's Barbara! She'd never consent. Stay now do, Lucy; don't go in. Let's go back to the village, and you can face the din to-morrow morning. Lay all the blame on me."
She shuddered.
"You don't know what great-grandmother's like when she's roused! But Barbara's at Ketel's Parlour. It's not likely she'll come home to-night, unless the sheep is dead. The sheep don't often die in her hands, for she looks after them as though they were sick bairns. I'll not be long, Joel."
She slipped from his arms like a child bent on mischief, laughing under her breath, yet not altogether at ease—it was no light undertaking for anyone to try and hoodwink old Mistress Lynn.
The great-grandmother looked at the clock as soon as she entered, and seemed grimly surprised at Lucy's punctuality. A cotter's wife rose from the settle and hurried away, so as to get her share of the festivities. She had been keeping the old woman company during the girl's absence.
"Sit thee down now," said Mistress Lynn, "and tell me about the wake."
"I's so tired, great-granny," yawned Lucy.
"Tired! At your age I could dance till dawn and not be too tired to milk the kye at sunrise."
Lucy sat down with an aggrieved expression.
"If you'd let me dance till dawn I'd maybe have had the better grace to tell you about it," she replied with some spirit.