‘How long have you had these put by, Susan?’
‘Nigh upon thirty year, my dear.’
‘And never used them yourself all that time, although you—’
‘What!’ The old lady drew herself up, the youthful blue eyes in her wrinkled face flashing indignation. ‘What d’ ye say!—me use ’em? Me? Th’ very same as my dear ould missus chawed wi’? Shame on ye! Not if there was nought to eat but cracking-nuts left i’ th’ wureld fer us all!’
I took the rebuke in penitent silence. When she had restored the revered relics to their locker in the back room, she resumed her knitting in the great wicker chair behind the counter. In a minute or two she had alike forgiven me and forgotten the cause of her displeasure, as I knew from her tone.
‘How the evenin’s do draw in, to be sure!’ she observed, laying down her work. ‘A’most dark, ut be, though ’tis no more ’n six o’clock.’
The ancient timepiece in the corner promptly droned out eleven. Miss Angel clapped her hands.
‘What did I tell ye?’ she said triumphantly. ‘Wunnerful good time ’a keeps, when I recollects to putt un back reg’lar.’
She rose and reversed the hands for a circle or two.
‘That’ll do till mornin’,’ said she placidly. ‘Ye warnts to be a little particler i’ country places: ut bean’t like i’ towns where—Gipsies! I do believe! An’ this time o’ night, to be sure!’