The men were preparing to move the cart. The woman who held the rein clung to it. “Now, Bet, have a care!” said the constable. “Or you’ll go home by Weeping Cross again!”
“Cross? I’ll cross you!” the termagant retorted. “Selling up widows’ houses is your bread and meat! May the devil, hoof and horn, with his scythe on his back, go through you! If there were three men here, ay, men as you’d call men——”
“Easy, woman, easy!”
“Woman, dang you! You call me woman——”
“Now, let go, Bet! You’ll be in trouble else!” some one said.
But she held on, and the crowd were beginning to jostle the men in charge when Basset stepped forward. “Steady, a moment,” he said. “Will the guardians let the woman stop if the rent is provided?”
“Who be you, master?” the constable asked. “You’d best let us do our duty.”
“Dang it, man,” an old fellow interposed, “it’s Squire Basset of Blore. Dunno you know him? Keep a civil tongue in your head, will you!”
“Ay,” chimed in another, pushing forward with a menacing gesture. “You be careful, Jack! You be Jack in office, but ’twon’t always be so! ’Twon’t always be so!”
“Mr. Colet knows the old woman?” Basset asked.