"It's the Swan blacksmith, Peter Pease."
"Is there any servant you trust whom you could send for him? Someone more attached to you than to the widow?"
"I can trust them all, and they all like me best," she answered.
"Good. Go and wake a servant and send him off at once for the blacksmith. Tell him not to bring him up to the house, but to take him straight to the orchard ... we don't want to wake the widow before need be. And the servant can stay and help us with the job—the more witnesses the better."
Hazel felt as if she was in a strange, rather terrible dream. But she crept up to the attic and aroused one of the unmarried labourers—who, according to the old custom, slept in their master's house—and bade him ride into Swan and bring the blacksmith back with him on important business concerning the law.
Hazel calculated that he should get to Swan and back in less than an hour, and she and Master Nathaniel crept out of the house to wait for them in the orchard, each provided with a spade.
The moon was on the wane, but still sufficiently full to give a good light. She was, indeed, an orchard thief, for no fruit being left to rob, she had robbed the leaves of all their colour.
"Poor old moon!" chuckled Master Nathaniel, who was now in the highest of spirits, "always filching colours with which to paint her own pale face, and all in vain! But just look at your friend, at Master Herm. He does look knowing!"
For in the moonlight the old herm had found his element, and under her rays his stone flickered and glimmered into living silver flesh, while his archaic smile had gained a new significance.
"Excuse, me, sir," said Hazel timidly, "but I couldn't help wondering if the gentleman you suspected was ... Dr. Leer."