Poor child.
To be afeard in the dark Sir—in the dead o’ the night Sir—when you’re all livin’ alone Sir—O, it is dreadful.
So it is, our Bridgy.
But I never mean to be afeard again Sir.
There’s a good girl.
Never, never (catching her breath)—if I can help it.
Nor I nyther, Bridgy—
Never ... (lowering her voice and peeping under the bed) never without I see the wicked Shape as they do—right afore me in the path, when I go after the cows, or when I go to look for the pretty shells on the sea-shore—
What wicked Shape?
Your own Sir—please.