“They’re much better than you, Cousin Anania!” said that downright young woman.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” replied Anania sharply.
“I’d rather have a true one,” was the child’s answer; “and I’m not sure they always go together.”
“Osbert says,” pursued Anania, ignoring Derette, “that he expects there’ll be a stir when my Lord comes to hear of them. Much if they don’t get turned out, bag and baggage. Serve ’em right, too!”
“They haven’t got any bags,” said literal Derette. “I don’t think they’ve any of them any clothes but what they wear. Only Gerard’s got a book.”
“A book! What is it about?” cried Anania. “Is he a priest?—surely not!”
Only a priest or monk, in her eyes, could have any business with a book.
“Oh no, he’s no priest; he’s a weaver.”
“Then what on earth is he doing with a book? You get hold of it, Aunt! I’ll warrant you it’s some sort of wickedness—safe to be! Black spells to turn you all into ugly toads, or some such naughty stuff—take my word for it!”
“I’d rather not, Cousin Anania, for you haven’t seen it, so your word isn’t much good,” said Derette calmly.