“I will,” said Mrs. Fry.
“I’ll start packin’ at once then, to show ’en as I be in earnest,” said Mrs. Sibley, with a dry chuckle as her friend rose.
No sooner had Mrs. Fry edged through the narrow door with her market-basket than Mrs. Sibley set to work.
When Mr. Foyle, who united the double functions of carrier and sexton, unhitched the horse from his van, and, having seen to the animal’s comfort, went indoors, he was surprised to find his children, who had preceded him into the house, standing with scared faces round the packing-case, which occupied the centre of the kitchen, while Mrs. Sibley, with an air of great determination, was stowing away various articles therein.
“Hullo!” cried he, pausing in the doorway. “What’s the matter here? Isn’t tea ready?”
“You’d best put on the kettle, Florence,” said Mrs. Sibley, turning to the eldest child. “I haven’t had time to ’tend to it. Oh, be that you, Mr. Foyle? Would you kindly hand me down that there clock? I’m afeard the childern mid break it. Henery, just roll up that door-mat an’ fetch it here.”
“Dear heart alive, what be about, Mrs. Sibley?” ejaculated honest Foyle. “You haven’t had no bad noos, I hope?”
“Oh, no noos at all, Mr. Foyle. Nothin’ noo do never come a-nigh this ’ere place. I be goin’ to have a bit of a change—I did tell ’ee this marnin’ as I wanted a change, didn’t I? I be a-goin’ to shift, Mr. Foyle.”
“To shift!” ejaculated the sexton.
He slowly unwound the lengths of black and white comforter which were swathed about his neck, gaping at her the while.