"Nay, that's for thee to say. It's all ower Marshcotes 'at tha'rt looking after her; an' some says she willun't hev thee, being keen set on shepherd Jose."
"Owd fooil! She's niver looked twice his way—no, nor will do while Hiram Hey stands i' th' forefront of her een."
"Oh, so there's summat in 't, then?" said Nanny sharply.
Hiram, driven to bay, scratched his thinning crown and muttered that he was "allus backard i' coming forrard."
"Begow, there's little Mistress Wayne!" cried Nanny on the sudden as her busy eyes caught sight of a cloaked figure going past her window to the graveyard. "What a day for th' likes o' her to be out o' doors. There's snow coming up wi' th' wind, an' fond as she is to hev her bit of a crack wi' Witherlee, she mud better hev stopped i' th' house to-day. It'll save thee going to Marsh, howsiver, Bet; tha can axe her what tha wants, an' nowt no more about it."
"Tha'rt right, Nanny. I'll watch for her coming back—she willun't be long, I warrant, on sich a day as this. They say she spends a lot o' time i' th' kirkyard, poor soul."
"Ay, Witherlee an' her is birds of a feather—fuller o' dreams nor life, an' i' touch, so to say, wi' th' ghosties. He tells her tales by th' hour together o' what he's seen i' th' kirkyard; an' she listens like a bairn, saying a word now an' then, but mostly sitting dumb-like wi' her een fixed on his face."
Hiram went to the door and watched Mistress Wayne go through the graveyard wicket; then shook his head soberly. "A man has little left to believe in when he gets to my years," he said, "an' ghosts an' sich like is nowt i' my way; but 'tis gooid for th' young Maister 'at yond poor soul cleaves like a lapdog to him—they bring luck, there's no denying it, to them as they tak a fancy to."
"They bring luck, an' they bring healing," said the Sexton's wife with a glance at her neighbour.
"Now, Nanny," cried the farm-man, setting down his mug. "Dost think I've getten all th' morning to waste on thee an' thy peats? There's nowt like wenches for hindering wark; an' time's like milk—tha cannot pick it up again when 'tis spilled."