"Hey!" croaked Mother Jericho, arching a skinny hand behind her ear. "Speak up, rye; I'm deaf."
"What are you doing so late in this wood?" said Dan, not choosing to repeat his remark, which, indeed, would have been Greek to the old hag. "Where are your people?"
"Near at hand, my dearie, near at hand. I came to see you here afore going to bed."
"I hope none of them will follow your example, mother. I don't want to be robbed."
"You won't be, rye! Burn me if you lose so much as a stick. They are my people," said Mother Jericho, confidentially; "and I told them not to come near you, dearie."
"That's very kind of you," said Dan, somewhat astonished at the protection thus accorded. "And may I ask why you have tabooed me in this way?"
"Hey! Tabooed! What's that?"
"It's Polynesian for protection."
"Polly what? I don't know no Pollys," said Mother Jericho, crossly. "I've come to read your hand and tell your fortune."
"I don't believe in such rubbish."