"I suppose, Jonas, you mun ha' seen her walking about i' t' village, in your time!—Were she such a big-looking woman?" inquired Pumpkin, as he shook the ashes out of his pipe, and replenished it.
"Forty year ago I did use to see her—she were then an old woman, wi' white hair, and leaned on a stick—I never thought she'd a' lasted so long," replied Higgs, emptying his glass.
"She've had a pretty long spell on't," quoth Dickons, after slowly emptying his mouth of smoke.
"A hundred and two," replied the sexton; "so saith her coffin-plate—a' see'd it to-day."
"What were her name?" inquired Tonson—"I never knew her by any name but Blind Bess."
"Her name be Elizabeth Crabtree on the coffin," replied Higgs; "and she be to be buried to-morrow."
"She were a strange old woman," said Hazel, one of the farmers, as he took down one of the oatcakes hanging overhead; and breaking off a piece, held it with the tongs before the fire to toast, and then put it into his ale.
"Ay, she were," quoth Pumpkin; "I wonder what she thinks o' such things now—maybe—God forgive me!—she's paying dear for her tricks!"
"Tut, Pumpkin," said Tonson, "let t'ould creature rest in her grave, where she's going to, peaceably!"
"Ay, Master Tonson," quoth the clerk, in his reading-desk twang—"There be no knowledge, nor wisdom, nor device!"