"They are saying—they are saying—Mr. Jan, what is it that they are saying about papa and those ladies at Chalk Cottage?"
Jan laid hold of the pestle and mortar, popped in a big lump of some hard-looking white substance, and began pounding away at it. "How should I know anything about the ladies at Chalk Cottage?" asked he. "I never was inside their door; I never spoke to any one of 'em."
"But you know that things are being said," urged Miss Deborah, with almost feverish eagerness. "Don't you?"
"Who told you anything was being said?" asked Jan.
"It was Master Cheese. Mr. Jan, folks have seemed queer lately. The servants have whispered together, and then have glanced at me and Amilly, and I knew there was something wrong, but I could not get at it. This morning, when I picked up this note—it's not five minutes ago, Mr. Jan—in my fright and perplexity I shrieked out; and Master Cheese, he said something about Chalk Cottage."
"What did he say?" asked Jan.
Miss Deborah's pale face turned to crimson. "I can't tell," she said. "I did not hear the words rightly. Master Cheese caught them up again. Mr. Jan, I have come to you to tell me."
Jan answered nothing. He was pounding very fiercely.
"Mr. Jan, I ought to know it," she went on. "I am not a child. If you please I must request you to tell me."
"What are you shivering for?" asked Jan.