“How are you, Mrs. Parish? Isn’t this a little venturesome?”
“I’m the same as usual, my lady. My pore heart goes on a-flutterin’ like an old hen tryin’ for to fly. Doctor says ’twill stop sudden-like any minute, night or day. I ain’t afeard. Maybe ’tis presumption to say that. I’d like to go—quick, wi’out givin’ too much trouble. What fair worrits me is the fear o’ poppin’ off in public. If I dropped dead, so to speak, in village street, ’twould scare the little ’uns.”
“I see your grandson is playing.”
“That he be, an’ proud as King Garge on his throne. Scared too, the gert silly! I told ’un to carry a stiff tail, I did. It mads me, yas, it do, when I see boys an’ girls meetin’ trouble halfway. Nice, religious lad, too. This very marning he makes me promise to pray so be as he bain’t bowled out fust ball.”
“And did you?” asked Margot.
The old woman looked keenly at her. Village gossip had spread far and wide the Squire’s plans.
“This is Lady Margot Maltravers, Mrs. Parish.”
“Ah-h-h! I guessed that. Did I pray, my lady? Yas—I did.”
“I am quite sure your prayer will be answered,” said Margot.
“I baint so sure,” retorted the dame, sharply. “God A’mighty’s ways be past findin’ out. I mind me prayin’ as never so for a second husband, bein’ lucky with Job Parish, but that prayer went on t’ muck-heap.”