“That the shepherd would do his best to ruin Logie, by killing Logie’s luck.”
“She lied, like all the Romaneys.”
“I tell you what she told me, shepherd,” said Nita, her grey eyes quiet and candid. “And I told the gypsy woman that Garsykes would see to Logie’s ruin.”
She turned to go down the road again and halted with fearless insolence.
“When I’m selling my baskets up dale and down—how they’ll laugh at the tale of how they shared the hut together—Hardcastle and she.”
With that she went her way, singing the little eerie ballad she had sung to Widow Mathison’s boy when Hardcastle met her in the road not long ago.
Now grow you big, and grow you tall,
Lad o’ the Wilderness,
You’ll give the Logie Folk a call,
When nights are dark and drear and all,