“Most surely she have; an’ she’ve a right to the air she breathes, an’ the water she drinks. She’ve a right to her ideas; but she’s no right to utter ’em where they might do harm. You an’ me be the best friends possible, thank God, an’ she’s no right to say an unkind word of you to me, any more than I’d have a right to say an unkind word of her to you; because you an’ she be the best friends possible likewise. An’ not a word against her would ever pass my lips to you; because you’m a woman as feels very deeply, an’ I should make mischief, which God forbid.” “Her never said a word against me, that I’ll swear to,” said Honor, hotly; “an’ if an angel from heaven told me her did, I wouldn’t believe it.” “An’ quite right you’d be,” said Mrs. Bloom. “You put it like a true friend. True friendship be a-thought blind always; an’ ’tis well it is so, for where there’s clear seeing between any two human beings, old or young, man or woman, perfect friendship can’t be. That’s why I’ve always kept my mouth shut so close all my life; and I ban’t going to begin to open it now I’m turned forty-five—not even to you, my dear.” “Not a word would I believe—not a syllable,” repeated Honor. “An’ not a word would you hear from me—good or bad. What she said was kindly meant—very kindly meant indeed. It only showed that no two humans look at life from the same point of view. We knowed that afore. For my own part I’ve always declared that ’twas weak of you to believe all they stories of ghosts an’ goblins, an’ dancing stones an’ the like. As a deep-thinking an’ true Christian I feel it. But the difference between me an’ her is that I say it to your face; she blames you behind your back.” “Avisa Mogridge has laughed at me often enough about it. That’s nothing,” said Honor. “I know ’tis nonsense really, but I can’t help believing the things.” “I’m very glad you’ve got the sense to see it so. ‘No,’ I said, ‘no, Mrs. Mogridge, whatever Honor Haycraft may be, she’s not a fool. Her father told her about these solemn things in her youth, an’ many an old ancient man hereabouts do still believe in ’em, though of course the Bible is short an’ sharp with witches an’ such like.’” “She didn’t say I was a fool?” “Well, since you ax me, I must be honest, for my own soul’s sake. Trouble I won’t make, an’ you’m far too sensible to think of it again. ‘Fool’ was not the word she used, but she wished you had more brains. That may be the same thing, or it may not. I up rather sharp an’ denied you had any lack of intellects; but she said she was in the right. ‘Prove it,’ I said. ‘Prove it you can’t, Avisa Mogridge. She’m a sensible, clever, good girl,’ I said, ‘an’ her head’s screwed on the right way.’