Janet’s eyes sparkled as this indirect piece of flattery went on.
“I’ll take it,” she said hastily; “I’ll take it.”
“Take it? Of course you will, dearie!” cried Mother Goodhugh; “and now look here, my child. I want something of thine to complete a little spell I have at work. Thou hadst a ribbon round thy neck when thou earnest to me.”
“Yes,” said Janet, “a red one; Mas’ Wat Kilby gave it to me.”
“Nay, then, child, that will not do. I only want an inch cut from it by thy left hand; but if it be tainted by an old man’s love it would not do. Let me see. Thou hast not anything given thee by the young court gallant?”
“No,” said the girl. Then, with a hasty glance around, she whispered “I have a piece of lace he gave to Mistress Mace, and which she would not wear.”
“That will do, child; go, get me the tiniest scrap of that, and I will weave a spell that shall bring thee happiness and peace.”
Janet rose and opened the door, and listened.
“They be all in the room,” she whispered, as she closed the door again.
“That be well. Be quick, child, and let me get out of this place.”