“’Tis well we be on the Heath,” said Alice, glancing round, as if to see whether they could be overheard. “If we spake thus in the streets of Colchester, neighbour, it should cost us dear.”
“Well, I do hate to be so careful!”
“Folks cannot have alway what they would,” said Alice, “But you know, neighbour, Bessy Foulkes is one of us.”
“Well, what then? So’s Master Clere.”
Alice made no answer.
“What mean you, Alice Mount? Master Clere’s a Gospeller, and has been this eight years or more.”
“I did not gainsay it, Meg.”
“Nay, you might not gainsay it, but you looked as if you would if you opened your mouth.”
“Well, neighbour, my brother at Stoke Nayland sells a horse by nows and thens: and the last time I was yonder, a gentleman came to buy one. There was a right pretty black one, and a bay not quite so well-looking. Says the gentleman to Gregory, ‘I’d fainer have the black, so far as looks go; but which is the better horse?’ Quoth Gregory, ‘Well, Master, that hangs on what you mean to do with him. If you look for him to make a pretty picture in your park, and now and then to carry you four or five mile, why, he’ll do it as well as e’er a one; but if you want him for good, stiff work, you’d best have the bay. The black’s got no stay in him,’ saith he. So, Meg, that’s what I think of Master Clere—he’s got no stay in him. I doubt he’s but one of your fair-weathered folks, that’ll side with Truth when she steps bravely forth in her satin gown and her velvet slippers; but when she comes in a threadbare gown and old clouted shoes, then she’s not for their company. There’s a many of that sort.”
“And you think Master Clere’s one?” said Margaret, in a tone which sounded as if she did not think so.