The big man looked across at the lonely shanty.
“God be wi’ ye, Nan,” he shouted; his voice resounded over the silent marshes and echoed round about the hut, but there was no reply.
French went nearer and knocked at the door.
“Are ye well, Nan?” he called.
Nan’s big booming voice replied, and her usual greetings rang out through the door:
“Ay, God be wi’ ye, good swine.”
French laughed and they went on, and as they crossed the dark saltings to their home they heard her hail, expressing approval and friendliness, following them over the flats, loud, then soft, and finally trailing off into a long-drawn-out wail:
“Rum, rum, rum—m—m.”