Only twenty-four hours!—and he had not yet decided. Which was it to be
—Saunders after all—or the savings-bank—or Bessie?
He was cording up his various possessions—a medley lot—indifferent parcels and bundles, when Bessie Costrell knocked at the door. She had already offered to stow away anything he might like to leave with her.
'Well, I thought you'd be busy,' she said as she walked in, 'an I came up to lend a hand. Is them the things you're goin to leave me to take care on?'
John nodded.
'Field's cart, as takes Louisa's things to-morrer, is a-goin to deliver these at your place first. They're more nor I thought they would be. But you can put 'em anywheres.'
'Oh, I'll see to 'em.'
She sat down and watched him tie the knots of the last parcel.
'There's some people as is real ill-natured,' she said presently, in an angry voice.
'Aye?' said John, looking up sharply. 'What are they sayin now?'
'It's Muster Saunders. 'Ee's allus sayin nassty things about other folks. And there'd be plenty of fault to be found with 'im, if onybody was to try. An Sally Saunders eggs him on dreadful.'