“Never you mind, Jim. It bain’t for nothin’ o’ that kind as you and your mother be come here this evenin’: ’tis the livin’ as you wants to deal wi’.” “Maybe if I had my will it ’ud be the dead,” said Jim, kicking savagely at the log. “Sh—sh—sh,” said his mother reprovingly. “Don’t ’ee take no notice of him, Aunt Betty; ’tis the best hearted bwoy in the world, but there, he be druv’ very nigh distracted at the present time!” “Well, Kate, my dear, as I was a-sayin’,” pursued the sibyl, pointedly addressing herself to the elder of her visitors, “I did give the poor creatur’ summat, and that very night about twelve o’clock she did set the charm to work.” Jim kicked at the log again, a little nervously, and Kate drew forward her chair with a grating sound on the tiled floor. “Jist as the clock did strike one,” went on Betty, in a sepulchral tone, “the flame o’ the candle did jump up and then drop down again, and Mary did hear her mother’s step on the floor.” Murmurs of admiration mingled with trepidation from Mrs. Hardy, and a sudden rigidity on Jim’s part. “There she was, jist as she mid ha’ been in life, in her Sunday dress an’ little brooch an’ all, Mary said, an’ a nice clean apron, an’ wi’ a beautiful fresh colour in her cheeks. She looked at Mary so reproachful like, the very same, Mary did say, as if she was axin’ her, ‘Why have ye brought me back?’ Poor Mary did go all white and twittery, an’ she did say: ‘Oh, Mother dear, I’d never ha’ brought you back from your rest, but just to ax ’ee the one thing: _where did ’ee put the spoons_?’ Well, the figure did stand lookin’ at her so solemn, and then all at once did rise its hand like this.” Here Betty pointed upwards, and a dramatic pause ensued. “Ah,” groaned Mrs. Hardy, “meanin’ to say as now she’d gone up’ards to glory she couldn’t be expected to be took up wi’ spoons an’ sich like.” “’Twas the very thing as Mary did think herself, Kate my dear,” responded Betty solemnly. “She come to I next mornin’, an’ she did say them very words, but I knowed better; I knowed that there charm what I gived her was one as never failed. ‘Not at all, Mary,’ says I. ‘Your mother’s sperrit warn’t a-tellin’ ’ee nought o’ the kind. It p’inted up’ards, ye say? Well then, take my advice an’ go straight home and _search the thatch_.’” “Well, to be sure!” ejaculated her listeners; even the taciturn Jim was constrained to express some interest. “Did she find ’em?” he asked quickly. “I should think she did find ’em, Jim. She did find every one as safe as anything, tied up in an old stocking, jist in the very spot what her mother had p’inted out.” This climax seemed to impress Jim even more than his mother; he leaned forward, his great red hands twitching as they rested one on each knee. “I d’ ’low, Aunt Betty, if ye could do that, you could do anythin’. Can’t ye gi’ me summat as ’ll get the better o’ this here chap?”