“Lawk adear!” said Mother Goodhugh, “and aren’t you afraid, when they bring the stuff down?”
“They never bring it through here,” said the girl. “They let the little barrels down through a hole covered with a flat stone outside there amongst the trees, and master goes along with Tom Croftly to take it, in their slippers, and then comes back and locks it up.”
“Ay, and I’ll be bound to say always carries the keys in his pocket, eh!”
“No,” said the girl, shaking her head. “They hang on a nail in the passage by the door.”
“There, I don’t want to know about the powder, dearie,” cried Mother Goodhugh. “Oh, the horrible stuff! I always begin to curse when I hear it mentioned, so we won’t talk about it. I came to see you, and talk about love, and—”
“But you mustn’t stop, indeed you mustn’t stop,” whispered Janet. “Suppose Mistress Mace should come?”
“But she won’t come, dearie. She’s in the corner of the parlour window with the handsome young spark from town.”
“How do you know?” cried Janet. “How do I know, child! He-he-he! Do you think there’s anything I don’t know? You came to me because I was the wise woman, eh?”
“Ye-es,” faltered the girl. “Well, didn’t you expect me to be wise, child, eh?”
Janet shrank as far away from her as she could, and stared at her, round of eye and parted of mouth.