“‘I’ll sit a bit, your honour, and catch my wind; them little blackguards blowed me;—and then I’ll go home. I’ll never draw a halfpenny the whole day, unless I bait my basket with a cake.’ I asked her if I could assist her on the road. ‘No, no; thank you all the same,’ continued she; ‘but if you’d just tell me who your own self is, that comed in the nick of time to presarve me from them childer, I’d be obliged to you. You are a soldier by your step—I can tell that as well as if I saw you; and an officer by the softness of your voice and the delicacy, not to say iligance, of your expressions.’ Mark you that, Henry. I told her my name, rank, &c. and we parted. The next day I came to inquire after her health, and we had a long gossip together about her own dear country, since which I have paid her a visit almost every day, and I flatter myself have entirely won her heart. ‘Captain Warenne,’ said she to me the other day, ‘I like you; you are always very kind to me, and can always find time to spake a word or two to me, which is more than many will do to the like of me. You are a soldier, too. I loves a soldier. I wish you had been _fut_, for _fut’s_ more natural to me; but all can’t be _fut_, and I’ll never forget you if I can do you a good turn.’” “Your Nanny is charming,” interrupted Henry; “and having heard her opinion of you, I am really anxious to know what she thinks of the beggars who have moved your spleen.” “She entertains little doubt,” answered Frank, “that they are the emissaries of some evil-disposed parties in the country, and the medium of communication between different districts and the metropolis; and her conclusions are drawn from the remarks which she has heard fall from the labourers and mechanics in this town, with whom her brother’s alehouse is a favourite place of resort.” “Indeed,” said Warenne; “and does she think that they are likely to produce a disturbance?” “She certainly does,” replied Frank; “for about three or four days ago, when I paid her a visit, she bade me be cautious not to be seen talking to her. ‘I sits,’ said she, ‘in my brother’s chimney-corner of an evening, with my bit duddeen; and because I’m blind, folks believe I can’t hear. There’ll be a row after harvest, or Nanny’s a liar; but your honour shall know in time. A’n’t I a soldier’s widow, and bound to keep the peace? I’ll just reconnoitre the ground for you cleverly; but you must not be seen spaking to me daily, or I’ll be suspected. You can drop past me as you go to see your men at the Boot of a morning; and, if the coast is clear, say ‘Good morrow, Nanny;’ you would go to your men natural like, and then I can asy tell you if I have larnt any news, without putting it into men’s heads that I’m thick at head-quarters.’”