Nanny turned from her baking-bowl. "Leeches is nobbut mortal, same as me an’ thee. How should they be ony mak o’ use? But there’s healing goes wi’ them as is fairy-kist, and axe Mistress Wayne to come an touch th’ bairn—she’ll do more nor all th’ leeches ’at iver swopped big words for brass." "Well, I’ve thowt on ’t mony a time sin’ yesterday; but I feared she’d tak it amiss, like, if I axed her. I war aye chary a’ th’ gentlefolk whether they’ve getten full wits or none at all." "I’ve no call to speak a gooid word for Mistress Wayne, seeing what she did to th’ owd Maister; but I will say this, Bet—she’s getten no mucky pride about her now. She’s that friendly wi’ Witherlee they mud hev shared th’ same porridge-bowl sin’ being babbies, an’ I warrant she’ll heal that bairn o’ thine as sooin as axe her." "I’ll tak thy word for ’t, Nanny, that I will; an’ th’ first chance I get, I’ll slip me dahn to Marsh." "That’s like thee!" cried the other sharply. "Th’ first chance tha gets! Niver thinking th’ little un may dee while tha’rt standing havy-cavy ’twixt will an’ willun’t.—There’s somebody coming up th’ loin. Now who mud it be, I wonder?" Nanny’s table stood just underneath the window, lest she should miss any detail of the life that passed her door. She craned her neck forward as the rumble of a cart came up the lane, and Bet the slattern ran to peep behind her shoulder. "Why, if there isn’t Hiram Hey!" cried the Sexton’s wife, as the cart pulled up at the door and Hiram’s knobby face, pinched now and tightened by the cold, peered in through the dusty glass. "By th’ Heart, his face looks foul enough to break th’ window-panes. Eh, eh, he’s a rum un, is Hiram. They say i’ Marshcotes there’s nobbut one can match thee, Nanny, an’ that’s Hiram Hey." "They’ll say owt i’ Marshcotes. What should he be stopping here for, think’st ’a, Bet?" Hiram ceased peering in at the window and opened the door as guardedly as if he feared an ambush. "I’ve brought thee some peats fro’ Marsh," he said, letting a stream of cold air in with him. "Ay, an’ tha’s brought a mort o’ cold air, an’ all," cried Nanny. "Well, th’ peats ’ull cure that, willun’t they?" retorted Hiram. Nanny went to the cart and turned over the topmost sods; for in Marshcotes they always looked a gift horse in the mouth. "I allus did say th’ young Maister war more thowtful-like nor ony lad I’ve happened on afore. I war dahn at Marsh yestreen, an’ I chanced to say summat about being short o’ peats——" "If nobbut shows his want o’ sense," growled Hiram. "We shall be short afore we’ve done wi’ this mucky weather. Just like th’ Maister, just! Th’ Ratcliffes came a two-week sin’, an’ wasted th’ fuel summat fearful by piling it agen th’ doors; an’ so, thinks th’ Maister, when th’ shed is nigh empty he cannot find a better time to go scattering peats all up an’ dahn th’ moorside."