“No, I bean’t a witch,” said the old lady; “I wishes I was; I’d soon charm a crock o’ gold.”
“Then, if you are not a witch, will you let us have some gooseberries? here’s sixpence.”
“You med have some if you want’s ’em; I shan’t take yer money.”
“What country is this?” said Bevis, going closer, as Mark came up beside him.
“This be Calais.”
“Granny, don’t you know who they be?” said a girl, coming round the corner of the cottage. She was about seventeen, and very pretty, with the bloom which comes on sweet faces at that age. Though they were but boys they were tall, and both handsome; so she had put a rose in her bosom. “They be Measter Bevis and Measter Mark. You know, as lives at Longcot.”
“Aw, to be sure.” The old lady got up and curtseyed. “You’ll come in, won’t ’ee?”
They went in and sat down on chairs on the stone floor. The girl brought them a plate of the gooseberries and a jug of spring-water. Bevis had not eaten two before he was up and looking at an old gun in the corner; the barrel was rusty, the brass guard tarnished, the ramrod gone, still it was a gun.
“Will it go off?” he said.
“Feyther used to make un,” said the girl.