“Hold that pert tongue o’ thine! Mistress Wade’s not like to have you. You’re in my care, and I’ve no leave to deliver you to any save the Black Ladies.”
“Well! I wouldn’t mind camping out a bit, if you’re so set to be rid of us,” said Will, reflectively. “There’s a blanket you’ve got rolled up in the loft, that ’d make a tent, and we could cut down poles, if you’ll lend us an axe; and—”
“You cut down poles! Marry come up! You’re not about to have any of my blankets, nor my axes neither.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” Will went on, still in a meditative key, “only for dinner. I don’t see where we should get that.”
“I see that you’re off to bed this minute, and don’t go maundering about tents and axes. You cut down poles! you’d cut your fingers off, more like. Now then, be off to the loft! Not another word! March!”
Just as Ursula was sweeping Will upstairs before her, a rap came on the door.
“There! didn’t I say a body never had a bit of peace?—Go on, Will, and get to bed; and mind thou leaves them dirty clothes on the floor by theirselves: don’t go to dirt everything in the room with ’em.—Walk in, Mistress Wade! So you found Cis?”
“Ay, I found her,” said the landlady, as she and Cissy came in together.
“Cis, do thou go up, maid, and see to Will a bit. He’s come in all o’er mud and mire, and I sent him up to bed, but there’s no trusting him to go. See he does, prithee, and cast his clothes into the tub yonder, there’s a good maid.”
Cissy knew very well that Ursula spoke so amiably because Mrs Wade was there to hear her. She went up to look after her little brother, and the landlady turned to Ursula.