The attendants retired as directed, and Dame Ursula, having availed herself of the embers of charcoal, to place her stewpan to the best advantage, drew herself as close as she could to her patient, and began in a low, soothing, and confidential tone of voice, to inquire what ailed her pretty flower of neighbours.
“Nothing, dame,” said Margaret somewhat pettishly, and changing her posture so as rather to turn her back upon the kind inquirer.
“Nothing, lady-bird!” answered Dame Suddlechop; “and do you use to send for your friends out of bed at this hour for nothing?”
“It was not I who sent for you, dame,” replied the malecontent maiden.
“And who was it, then?” said Ursula; “for if I had not been sent for, I had not been here at this time of night, I promise you!”
“It was the old Scotch fool Jenny, who did it out of her own head, I suppose,” said Margaret; “for she has been stunning me these two hours about you and Mother Redcap.”
“Me and Mother Redcap!” said Dame Ursula, “an old fool indeed, that couples folk up so.—But come, come, my sweet little neighbour, Jenny is no such fool after all; she knows young folks want more and better advice than her own, and she knows, too, where to find it for them; so you must take heart of grace, my pretty maiden, and tell me what you are moping about, and then let Dame Ursula alone for finding out a cure.”
“Nay, an ye be so wise, Mother Ursula,” replied the girl, “you may guess what I ail without my telling you.”
“Ay, ay, child,” answered the complaisant matron, “no one can play better than I at the good old game of What is my thought like? Now I'll warrant that little head of yours is running on a new head-tire, a foot higher than those our city dames wear—or you are all for a trip to Islington or Ware, and your father is cross and will not consent—or——”
“Or you are an old fool, Dame Suddlechop,” said Margaret, peevishly, “and must needs trouble yourself about matters you know nothing of.”