The girls chatted gaily to the old man as they went down the hill on the other side of the wood to Low Farm.
Marjory never liked to go to the farm without Peter or Lisbeth or her uncle, for she was a little afraid of the woman who managed it. Mrs. Shaw was very tall and strongly built, with black hair turning gray about the temples, and dark, deep-set, piercing eyes, and eyebrows which Marjory always thought looked long enough to comb. This gave Mrs. Shaw, as she was called, a somewhat forbidding look, and, added to her quick, decided, almost rough way of speaking, made her more feared than loved. No one knew anything of her life before she came to Heathermuir; but the story went that her husband had gone away to foreign parts and never come back again, and that her temper was soured in consequence. Be that as it might, she was an excellent manager; everything at the Low Farm was in spick-and-span order, and fit for inspection at any time of the day. Maids and men alike knew that they must do their work, or Alison Shaw would demand the reason of any neglect or unpunctuality; and with those black eyes fixed upon them it was impossible to prevaricate or offer excuses.
The young ladies' visit must have been expected, for when they were ushered by Mrs. Shaw into the little parlour, there was a tray on the table with glasses on it, and a bottle of gooseberry wine and a cake of shortbread.
Mrs. Shaw poured out some wine for each of the girls, eyeing them critically as she did so. When at last she spoke it was not with the broad accent usual amongst the people of Heathermuir—a fact which in itself proclaimed her as not one of them, and added not a little to their respect for her, and to the mystery which surrounded her.
"So you've come to see the farm, Miss Forester," she said in her deep but musical voice. "What do you wish to see first?"
Blanche, conscious of the earnest scrutiny of those dark eyes, blushed rosy red, and, bewildered by this sudden question, looked appealingly at Marjory, who, unfortunately, had a mouthful of shortbread at that moment; then, feeling that she must say something, Blanche stammered, "Oh, I don't know—er—have you any pigs?" She did not in the least wish to see pigs more than any other animal, but they were the only living things she could think of at the moment as appropriate to a farm.
Marjory laughed, but Mrs. Shaw did not move a muscle.
"Yes," she said, "we have pigs; you shall see them first if you please."
"Thank you," said Blanche; and then, thinking that she ought to try to be polite and friendly, "What very nice wine this is!"
"Yes, it is," responded Mrs. Shaw. "I made it myself."