But Janet smiled a little contemptuously. She knew it was a pig and no devil. Granny Thomas was only an old fraud. Her awe passed away and left her cool Sparhallow.
"Can you," she said with her own directness, "make a—a person care for another person—care—very much?"
Granny removed her pipe and chuckled.
"What you want is toad ointment," she said.
Toad ointment! Janet shuddered. That did not sound very nice. Granny noticed the shudder.
"Nothing like it," she said, nodding her crone-like old grey head. "There's other things, but noan so sure. Put a li'l bit—oh, such a li'l bit—on his eyelids, and he's yourn for life. You need something powerful—you're noan so pretty—only when you're blushing."
Janet was blushing again. So Granny thought she wanted the charm for herself! Well, what did it matter? Randall was the only one to be considered.
"Is it very—expensive?" she faltered. She had not much money. Money was no plentiful thing on a P.E.I. farm in 1840.
"Oh, noa—oh, noa," Granny leered. "I don't sell it. I gives it. I like to see young folks happy. You don't need much, as I've said—just a li'l smootch and you'll have your man, and send old Granny a bite o' the wedding cake and fig o' baccy for luck, and a bid to the fir-r-st christening! Doan't forget that, dearie."
Janet was cold again with anger. She hated old Granny Thomas. She would never come near her again.