Their indignation having found vent, they went on to talk of Virgin Offwill, who has acquired celebrity by living alone in a cottage on no one knows what, by sleeping in an armchair before the fire (when she can afford one), and by never washing. Sometime last month, Virgin sent for Dr Jacks because, so she said, she was wished [bewitched]; and she would not let him go until he threatened to report the state of her house to the medical officer of health. [Sidenote: _GOD SAVE--THE DINNER_] The tale of Virgin Offwill was capped by another--that of old Mrs Widworthy. Several years ago (these gossips have long memories) she received a postal order from her son together with an invitation to visit him in London. The post arrived after her man had gone to work. She did not wait; she sent out a neighbour's child to change the order, packed her few things in a basket, and went off to her son by the midday train. On the table she left a note: "Widworthy, I am gone to London. Your dinner is in the saucepan. I shall be back directly." There was loud laughter in the kitchen; another round of stout and ale; then silence. The mothers fidgeted, each after her own manner, meditatively. In all the world, and Seacombe, there seemed nothing to talk about--or too much. "Have 'ee heard ort lately of Ned Corry?" asked Grannie Pinn with a delightful mixture of gusto and propriety. "Have 'er still got Dina wi' 'en?" "Yes, I think." "An' his wife tu?" Bessie burst into the room. Neither Tony nor Mrs Widger approve of discussing the intimate humanities before children, so Bessie was allowed to fling her news to us unchecked. "Mother, Miss Mase says I can leave school so soon as yu've found me a place. Then I'll hae some money o' my own earnings, won't I?" "Yu'll bring it to me, same as I had to what I earned, an' yu'll stay on to school till I thinks vitty. You'm not fit for a gen'leman's house." "Yes, I be. I can work. That's what yu'm paid for, ain't it?" "How many cups an' saucers have yu smashed this week?" "Have they learned 'ee all yu wants to know up to school?" inquired Grannie Pinn quietly, but with a twinkle at the company. "They an't learned me to play the pi-anno. That's what I wants now. If Dad 'd get one, _I_'d play." "Have they learned 'ee to cook a dinner?" "Anybody can du thic. I've learned to play _God Save the King_ on the school pi-anno." "How do 'ee start then?" "Why, you puts your fingers...." "Naw! I means how du 'ee start to cook dinner?" "Peuh!" "Her an't learned tidiness," said Mam Widger. "Lookse! Her scarf on one chair, gloves flinged on another, coat slatted on the ground an' her hat on the dresser--now, since her's come in! Pick 'em up to once, else thee't hae my hand 'longside o'ee!" Bessie scrabbled up her clothes and, making sounds of disgust, went out. "Her'll steady down, I hope," remarked Mrs Widger. "Her's wild, but a gude maid to try an' help a body, though her makes so much work as her does."