Presently she went out, closing the door after her, and repossessed herself of the obnoxious bonnet, which a thoughtful neighbour had rescued from the dust and set upon a gatepost.
Before she could re-enter the house one or two anxious friends, who had been eagerly on the look-out for her from divers points of ambush, emerged from their respective doors.
“Summat very strange must have happened, Mrs. Frizzell, I’m sure, to make Susan behave as she did just now,” one said.
“Ah, I never did see nothing like it,” chimed in another.
“I’ve seen a man as was a bit drinky-like throw off his hat and tread on it, but never a respectable young ’ooman, same as Mrs. Griggs.”
“The poor thing didn’t know what she was a-doin’,” returned Mrs. Frizzell. “There, it be all so mixed up I do scarce know how to tell ye. We’ll know the right o’ things in a few days. It do seem now as if we’d ha’ made some mistake in thinkin’ Susie was a widow.”
“Lard, now, you don’t say so? Weren’t Private Griggs killed, then, after all? Why, we did see’s name in papers.”
“Them papers do make mistakes, though,” cried Mrs. Cross. “I did see oncet or twicet as they did say: ‘So-and-so, stated to be missin’, is now found to be dead,’ and t’other way round. This here be t’other way round, I suppose?”
“’Ees,” groaned Mrs. Frizzell, passing her band wearily over her brow. It was very much the other way round; the whole world, as it seemed to her, had turned completely topsy-turvy.
“Dear, I don’t wonder as poor Susan be half out of her mind. You don’t look so very well pleased yourself, my dear.”