"Good morning, Mr. Hunting," she said.
The man bent his head curtly and passed on.
He had heard from Coast and Waite and others how this woman had tried to get round young Rossitur. He would make it quite clear there was to be none of that little game with him.
Mary continued her journey.
"This is ridiculous," she told herself. "I'm letting things get on my nerves. There's nothing wrong really."
She decided to go and call on Mrs. Watts. The old lady would be pleased to hear about the waggons. Besides, she was a cheery old soul.
But the old soul refused to be cheery. Mrs. Watts was full of fears and fancies. She sat gazing through the windows across the sunlit orchard, seeing nothing but shadows that were not there.
"I'm sure I don't know what we're coming to," she sighed, shaking her head. "What with such goings on at the Flying Fox and preachin's on the bridge at evenings. Anderby isn't what it was, Mrs. Robson."
Mary agreed that it was not. But that did not necessarily imply the changes were undesirable.
"You can't expect to keep things always the same, you know," she remarked brightly.