“No, Miss, no, Miss; that’s a bit of a comfort. I wouldn’t be you, Miss Flower, for all the wide world. Well, I must go now; I’m a-sleeping in Miss Polly’s room to-night, Miss.”
“Why, is Polly ill, too?”
“Only her foot’s bad. I mustn’t stay, really, Miss Flower.”
“Look here,” said Flower, struck by a sudden thought, “before you go tell me something. Your mother lives in the village, does she not?”
“Why, yes, Miss, just in the main street, down round by the corner. There’s the baker’s shop and the butcher’s, and you turn round a sharp corner, and mother’s cottage is by your side.”
“I’ve a fancy to go and see her. Good-night.”
“But not at this hour, surely, Miss?”
“Why not? I was out later last night.”
“That’s true. Well, I must go to Miss Polly now. Don’t you make any noise when you’re coming in, Miss! Oh, my word!” continued Maggie to herself, “what can Miss Flower want with mother? Well, she is a contrairy young lady mischievous, and all that, and hasn’t she wrought a sight of harm in this yer house! But, for all that, mother’ll be mighty took up with her, for she’s all for romance, mother is, and Miss Flower’s very uncommon. Well, it ain’t nought to do with me, and I’ll take care to tell no tales to Miss Polly, poor dear.”
The night was still and calm; the stars shone peacefully; the wind, which had come in gusts earlier in the evening, had died down. It took Flower a very few minutes to reach the village, and she wasn’t long in discovering Mrs. Ricketts’ humble abode.