“You dare to say another word, and you shall have no dole next Sunday,” cried the Vicar angrily.
“I—I don’t care; I say it’s come home to him at last. I always said it would.”
“Yes, you wicked old creature; and in spite of your vanity you are not a prophetess. Take that old woman home,” cried the Vicar fiercely; but no one stirred.
“What, are you all afraid of her?”
“She’ll get cursing and ill-wishing us if we do, sir,” said one of the men present.
“I’ll take her home, sir,” cried David. “Don’t s’pose she’ll hurt me much if she do. Come along, old lady, and you, Pete, take hold of her other arm.”
Pete obeyed, and seemed to forget his injuries, taking Mother Warboys’ other arm, and helping her out of the yard, she saying no more, but shaking her head, and muttering that she “always knowed how it would be.”
By this time Uncle Richard was sufficiently recovered to walk about; and, beckoning Tom to him, he took his arm and went into the workshop, where the silvered piece of speculum lay shattered; and in addition to the windows being broken, the bench was split from end to end, and a table and stools knocked over.
“Look at the speculum, Tom. Is it hurt?”
Tom’s ears were still ringing as he crossed to where they had laid the disc of glass face downwards; and on uncovering it, he found it uninjured, and said so, making his uncle draw a deep breath as if much relieved.