"Yes. Let me in."
"No, indeed. This ain't the place for you. If you think you're goyne to be mistress and order about here you're mistaken. You go along; I'm goyne to shut the door."
Mehetabel had not the spirit to resent this insolence.
She turned in the porch and left the inn, that had once been her home, and the only home in which she had found happiness.
She made her way to the fields that belonged to Simon Verstage, and after wandering through a ploughed glebe she found him.
"Ah, Matabel!" said he, "glad to see you. What brings you here so early in the day?"
"Dear father, I cannot tell you all, but I have left Bideabout.
I can stay with him no longer, something has happened. Do not
press me to tell—at least not now. I can never return to the
Punch-Bowl. Will you take me in?"
The old man mused.
"I'll consult Polly. I don't know what she'll say to it. I'm rather dependent on her now. You see, I know nothing of the house, I always put that into Susanna's charge, and now poor Sanna is gone, Polly has taken the management. Of course, she makes mistakes, but wun'erfully few. In fact, it is wun'erful how she fits into Sanna's place, and manages the house and all—just as if she had been brought up to it. I'll go and ask her. I couldn't say yes without, much as I might wish."
Mehetabel shook her head.