Then she ran to the bars and called after Jack in a whisper; but if any one had asked why she wanted him to come back just at that time, she could not have explained.
Returning to the old oak, she was about to sit down again when the rattle of wheels told that Farmer Pratt was near at hand.
Hardly aware of what she did, the little woman went hurriedly into the house, and there awaited what must necessarily be a very painful interview.
A few moments later the man whom Jack looked upon as a merciless enemy knocked at the door, and Aunt Nancy said feebly, "Come in."
Farmer Pratt entered without very much ceremony, and as the little woman gazed at his face she fancied, probably from what Jack had told her, that it was possible to see covetousness and hard-heartedness written on every feature.
He did not remove his hat, but stood in the centre of the floor, whip in hand, as he said,—
"Mornin' ma'am, mornin'. I'm from Scarborough, an' my name is Nathan Pratt. P'rhaps you've heard of me."
Aunt Nancy was about to say she never had, meaning that her neighbors never had spoken of him as a person of importance; but she checked herself on remembering this would be a falsehood because of what Jack had said.
"I have heard the name," she replied faintly.
"I thought so, I thought so. I've lived, man an' boy, in Scarborough for nigh on to fifty years, an' when that's been done without givin' anybody a chance to say a word agin me, except that I want my own, as other folks do, then it would be kinder strange if I wasn't known within a dozen miles of home."