“Well, Gib! Didst thou want to remind me that so long as thou art alive, I shall have one friend left? Poor puss!” and she stroked her uncomely companion.
“How the wind whistles! Well, it is cold to-night! There’ll be nobody coming now to consult the Wise Woman. We may as well lie down, Gib—it’s the only warm place, bed is. Holy saints! what’s that?”
She listened intently for a moment, and Gib, with erect tail, went to the door and smelt under it. Then he looked back at his mistress, and said once more,—“Me-ew!”
“Somebody there, is there? A bit frightened, I shouldn’t wonder. Come in, then—there’s nought to fear,”—and she opened the crazy door of her hut. “Well, can’t you come in—must I lift you up? Why, what—Mary, Mother!”
Half lifting, half dragging, for very little strength was left her, the old woman managed to pull her visitor inside. Then she bolted the door, and stooping down, with hands so gentle that they might have been an infant’s, softly drew away from a young scarred face the snow-saturated hair.
“Ay, I see, my dear, I see! Don’t you try to speak. I can guess what you are, and whence you come. I heard tell what had happened. Don’t you stir, now, but just drink a drop of this warm mallow tea—the finest thing going for one in your condition. I can’t give you raiment, for I’ve none for myself, but we’ll see to-morrow if I can’t get hold o’ somewhat: you’ve not been used to wear rags. I’ll have ’em, if I steal ’em. Now, don’t look at me so reproachful-like! well, then, I’ll beg ’em, if it worries you. Oh, you’re safe here, my dear! you’ve no need to look round to see if no villains is a-coming after you. They’ll not turn up in these quarters, take my word for it. Not one o’ them would come near the witch’s hut after nightfall. But I’m no witch, my dearie—only a poor old woman as God and the blessed saints have quite forgot, and folks are feared of me.”
“The Lord never forgets,” the parched lips tried to say.
“Don’t He? Hasn’t He forgot both you and me, now?”
“No—never!”
“Well, well, my dear! Lie still, and you shall tell me any thing you will presently. Have another sup!—just one at once, and often—you’ll soon come round. I know some’at about herbs and such-like, if I know nought else. See, let me lay this bundle of straw under your head; isn’t that more comfortable, now? Poor thing, now what are you a-crying for?—does your face pain you bad? I’ll lay some herbs to it, and you won’t have so much as a scar there when they’ve done their work. Ay, I know some’at about herbs, I do! Deary me, for sure!—poor thing, poor thing!”