"Have you a husband?" asked the farmer.
"No, nor never had, and don't want one. I'm much better alone. I can lie down mistress and get up master. Married women are slaves. Men think more of their cattle than they do of their wives."
"That's just as the case may be," returned Rushmere. "Some o' them don't deserve much consideration. I ha' allers heard say, a good wife makes a good husband."
"And how many children have you?" asked Mrs. Rushmere, looking suspiciously at her strange guest.
"Two," said the woman, "a girl and a boy. They are too young to tramp the roads. I leave them at home with my mother, while I travel the country to earn them bread."
"And what have you got in your basket?" asked Dorothy, who was as curious as the rest to learn something about their visitor.
"A little of everything. Needles, pins, thread; cotton of both sorts, white and coloured; side-combs for the gals, and pipes and tobacco for the men. Take a look at my wares."
The gaunt creature rose, and placed the basket on the table before Mrs. Rushmere.
As she stood in the full light of the candle, Dorothy, who had only before caught a partial glimpse of her face, shrunk back as she scanned the vulgar harsh features, and encountered the bold gaze of the tramp. Pincher, who followed close at her heels, gave an ominous growl, and burst off into a fresh paroxysm of barking.
"That's a cross dog of yours," cried the woman, kicking at Pincher, with her heavy nailed boots.