“I’ve hurt my foot,” said the girl, with a catch in her breath—“maybe it’s broken.”
“It’s the ’edge that’s broken,” observed the other, looking up into the gap. “Where d’ye come from?”
“Talgwynne,” replied Catherine, the zealous caution of her day forgotten.
“Talgwynne?” shouted her companion. “There’s a good many’ll copy ye comin’ from Talgwynne! Elijah Jones o’ the Bush went by in ’is cart not an hour since, singin’ like a bird, an’ Mrs. Jones ’oldin’ ’im so as ’e couldn’t be sprawlin’ over the ’orse’s tail. ’E’d been out three times between this and the last turnin’, so her told me. ‘By Pharaoh’! says I, ‘I’d larrup ’im’! When ’e ’eard that ’e was nigh out o’ the cart an’ over the dashboard again.”
“But I’m afeared my ankle’s broken,” said Catherine irrelevantly.
Her face was so grey and pinched that the woman’s suspicions changed to concern; she put a stout arm under her and managed to raise her till she stood upright.
“Try if ye can’t ’obble,” said she, as they stood clinging together.
The girl obeyed and found that by resting her whole weight on her companion’s shoulder she could move forward, and the two set off towards the toll as best they could. It was painful work, but relief at the discovery that her bones were whole gave Catherine courage, and her white lips were taking a little colour as they neared the house. Above the conspicuous window was a black board which displayed in white lettering, ‘Maria Cockshow, Tollkeeper’; and as Catherine saw it she remembered hearing that a tollkeeper’s widow from Herefordshire, of whose looks and dealings rumour had strange tales, was in charge of one of the gates near Losbury. It was, presumably, on the shoulder of this person that she now leaned.