"In good sooth, dame," he replied, "'tis not every day I hear such English as yours."
He paused a moment in thought. This was May-day—a season of revelry and good-natured practical joking. This woman was evidently quizzing him, so it behooved him to repay her in kind.
"But a truce to quips and quillets, say I," he continued. "'Twill do me much pleasure an your ladyship will follow me to the selectman. As it happens, his honor is even now holding court near London Bridge."
"London Bridge!" gasped Rebecca. "Why, London ain't a Bible country, is it?"
Deigning no notice to a query which he did not understand, the young fellow set off to northward, followed closely by the two women.
"Keep close to him, Phœbe," said Rebecca, warningly. "Ef we should lose the man in all this rabble o' folks we would not find him in a hurry."
"Thou seest, sweet sister," Phœbe replied, "'tis indeed our beloved city of London. Did I not tell thee yon village was Newington, and here we be now in Southwark, close to London Bridge."
Rebecca had forgotten her sister's ailment in the fierce indignation which the bull-baiting had aroused. But now she was brought back to her own personal fears and aims with a rude shock by the strange language Phœbe held.
She leaped forward eagerly and touched their guide's shoulder.
"Hey, mister!" she exclaimed, "I'd be obliged to ye if ye'd show us the house o' the nearest doctor before we see the selectman."