“An egg! an egg?” demanded Mrs Wade, with a burst of hearty laughter; for she laughed, as she did everything else, with all her might. “Is that all thou’st got by thy journey? Marry, but I would have tarried another day, and fetched two! Poor Father Pulleyne! so he’s but to have one egg to his supper? If them hens have laid no more, I’m a Dutchwoman! See thou, take this duster, and dust the table and forms, and I’ll go and search for eggs. If ever a mortal woman—”
Mistress Wade was in the yard before she got further, and Dorothy was left to imagine the end of the sentence. Before that leisurely young woman had finished dusting the first form, the landlady reappeared with an apronful of eggs.
“I marvel whither thou wentest for thy egg, Doll. Here be eighteen thou leftest for me to gather. It’s no good to bid thee be ’shamed, for thou dost not know how, I should in thy place, I’ll warrant thee. Verily, I do marvel whatever the world’s a-coming to!”
Before Mrs Wade had done more than empty her apron carefully of the eggs, a soft rap came on the door; and she called out,—
“Come within!”
“Please, I can’t reach,” said a little voice.
“Open the door, Doll,” said Mrs Wade; and in came three children—a girl of nine, a boy of six, and a baby in the arms of the former.
“Well, what are you after? Come for skim milk! I’ve none this even.”
“No, please. Please, we’re come to the preaching.”
“You’re come to the preaching? Why, you’re only as big as mice, the lot of you. Whence come you?”