That was all that Avisa said to Mrs. Bloom, the washerwoman; but a fortnight afterward it happened that by evil chance Mrs. Bloom fell out bitterly with the water-bailiff’s widow, and told Mrs. Mogridge that she was a cat, and that ’twas well known her husband never died of a chill at all, but from his wife’s unkindness and cruelty. She said a great many other things of a nature not necessary to set down; and, as a result, Mrs. Mogridge felt it impossible longer to affect the society of Mrs. Bloom. Then did Mrs. Bloom ask Honor Haycraft to a cup of tea; and Honor, smarting with indignation at the treatment her dearest friend had received from the washerwoman’s venomous tongue, accepted the invitation. Her purpose was loyal to the other widow. She intended to glean further particulars concerning Mrs. Bloom’s abominable opinions and assertions touching Avisa. Because a man in the village had told them that Mrs. Bloom’s statements were in the nature of a libel, and might even put her into prison. Hoping to catch Mrs. Bloom in some outrageous utterance, and so assist her friend to crush the washerwoman, Honor Haycraft appeared in a cottage that always reeked of soap and steam. Mrs. Bloom immediately came to personalities; and then Honor’s freckles stood out brown upon her red skin; she grew hot from her heart outward; the tea lost its savour, and the toast its charm. “Sorry am I to quarrel with any living thing—man, woman or mouse—but one has one’s pride,” said Mrs. Bloom. “Ess, one has one’s pride; an’ if there’s a thing I do pride myself upon, after my gift of washing, ’tis my gift of silence. It don’t come easy to any healthy-minded woman in a village this size to keep her mouth shut; an’ I confess that it didn’t come easy to me; but I larned how to do it, an’ I’ve been a faithful friend to a gert many people, an’ never quarrelled with a living soul, gentle or simple, till Avisa Mogridge broke with me.” “She’s got a proper grudge against you,” said Honor, cautiously. “An’ I’m on her side, I warn you.” “No doubt: you’ve heard her tale. I’m not going to say anything about it to you, because you are her particular friend, an’ blessed are the peacemakers. But this I’ll say, though far be it from me to set friends against friends: I would advise you to take care. She’s a fire as a very little spark will set on light,—a very critical woman,—always was so. It’s a fault where there’s no judgement. Her can’t help it. Her criticises other folks’ ways, an’ their habits, an’ their ideas, an’ even their children. Now, if there is a dangerous trick on God’s earth, ’tis to criticise other folks’ children.” “She’s a right to her opinions, however.”