"Yes, and he'll have more cause to be before he's much older," said Mabyn confidently.
They could not continue their conversation just then, for they were going down the side of the hill between short trees and bushes, and the path was only broad enough for one, while there were many dark places demanding caution.
"Seen any ghosts yet?" Wenna called out to Mabyn, who was behind her.
"Ghosts, sir? Ay, ay, sir! Heave away on the larboard beam. I say, Wenna, isn't it uncommon dark?"
"It is uncommonly dark?"
"Gentlemen always say uncommon, and all the grammars are written by gentlemen. Oh, Wenna, wait a bit: I've lost my brooch."
It was no ruse, for a wonder: the brooch had indeed dropped out of her shawl. She felt all over the dark ground for it, but her search was in vain.
"Well, here's a nice thing! Upon my—"
"Mabyn!"
"Upon my—trotting pony: that was all I was going to say. Wenna, will you stay here for a minute, and I'll run down to the foot of the hill and get a match?"