I do
not wonder that old superstitions linger in such nooks as that. Life
there is like bathing in dreams. But I saw that they had heard me
coming; and when I stopt in the doorway, the old woman broke the charm
by saying, "Nay sure! What; han yo getten thus far? Come in, pray yo."
"Well, Nanny," said I; "where's th' owd chap?"
"Eh," replied the old woman; "it's noan time for him yet. But I see,"
continued she, looking up at the clock, "it's gettin' further on than I
thought. He'll be here in abeawt three-quarters of an hour--that is, if
he doesn't co', an' I hope he'll not, to neet. I'll put th' kettle on.
Jenny, my lass, bring him a tot o' ale."
I sat down by the side of a small round table, with a thick plane-tree
top, scoured as white as a clean shirt; and Jenny brought me an
old-fashioned blue-and-white mug, full of homebrewed.
"Toast a bit o' hard brade," said Nanny, "an' put it into't."
I did so.
The old woman put the kettle on, and scaled the fire; and then,
settling herself in her chair again, she began to re-arrange her
knitting-needles. Seeing that I liked my sops, she said, "Reitch some
moor cake-brade. Jenny'll toast it for yo.
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