Anny swallowed, and then said as carelessly as she could:
“Oh! ’twas no one of any account; ’twas the tapster from the Ship.”
CHAPTER XXII
“NAN, are you within? I’ve come to beg a thing of ye, Mother.”
Anny stood outside Nan Swayle’s little cabin and knocked at the door. It was early afternoon and the hot sun poured down on the gray purplish saltings, but in spite of the heat the hut was shut up.
Anny began to be afraid that the old woman had gone away, and a sudden feeling of terrible loneliness seized her; she knocked again frantically.
There was silence for a moment or so and then Nan’s great booming voice came out to the waiting girl like a welcome peal of thunder after a lightning flash:
“Good swine, peace to ye, whoever you are. What do you want wi’ old Mother Swayle?”
“’Tis I, Mother—Anny Farran, and in great need.” The girl spoke eagerly and her voice shook unsteadily.
There was the sound of someone moving hastily across the hut; the door flung open and Nan’s great gaunt form appeared in the opening.