But it seemed as if the woman had something else that she would say, for she was angry that he should be sent away. Her eyes gleamed, and her head tossed, while the smith with his two big hands outspread seemed to be soothing her as best he could. For a long time they whispered until at last she appeared to be satisfied. “To-morrow, then?” she cried loud out. “To-morrow,” he answered. “You keep your word and I’ll keep mine,” said she, and dropped the lash on the pony’s back. The smith stood with the rasp in his hand, looking after her until she was just a little red spot on the white road. Then he turned, and I never saw his face so grave. “Jim,” said he, “that’s Miss Hinton, who has come to live at The Maples, out Anstey Cross way. She’s taken a kind of a fancy to you, Jim, and maybe she can help you on a bit. I promised her that you would go over and see her to-morrow.” “I don’t want her help, uncle, and I don’t want to see her.” “But I’ve promised, Jim, and you wouldn’t make me out a liar. She does but want to talk with you, for it is a lonely life she leads.” “What would she want to talk with such as me about?” “Why, I cannot say that, but she seemed very set upon it, and women have their fancies. There’s young Master Stone here who wouldn’t refuse to go and see a good lady, I’ll warrant, if he thought he might better his fortune by doing so.” “Well, uncle, I’ll go if Roddy Stone will go with me,” said Jim. “Of course he’ll go. Won’t you, Master Rodney?” So it ended in my saying “yes,” and back I went with all my news to my mother, who dearly loved a little bit of gossip. She shook her head when she heard where I was going, but she did not say nay, and so it was settled. It was a good four miles of a walk, but when we reached it you would not wish to see a more cosy little house: all honeysuckle and creepers, with a wooden porch and lattice windows. A common-looking woman opened the door for us. “Miss Hinton cannot see you,” said she. “But she asked us to come,” said Jim. “I can’t help that,” cried the woman, in a rude voice. “I tell you that she can’t see you.” We stood irresolute for a minute. “Maybe you would just tell her I am here,” said Jim, at last. “Tell her! How am I to tell her when she couldn’t so much as hear a pistol in her ears? Try and tell her yourself, if you have a mind to.” She threw open a door as she spoke, and there, in a reclining chair at the further end of the room, we caught a glimpse of a figure all lumped together, huge and shapeless, with tails of black hair hanging down. The sound of dreadful, swine-like breathing fell upon our ears. It was but a glance, and then we were off hot-foot for home. As for me, I was so young that I was not sure whether this was funny or terrible; but when I looked at Jim to see how he took it, he was looking quite white and ill. “You’ll not tell any one, Roddy,” said he. “Not unless it’s my mother.”