“Who is this horrid person?” demanded my lady, and took up the boiling kettle in her defence. “By Goles!” ejaculated Mr. Potter, and, eyeing her heroic proportions and determined air, retreated to the door. “Rose,” said Sir John, intervening, “it is my joy to present my friend, Mr. George Potter. Mr. Potter—Mrs. Rose!” “Friend?” she repeated. “Your friend? Is he a murderer or merely a thief?” “Neither, child. He is simply a friend o’ mine temporarily embarrassed by—circumstances.” Mr. Potter made a leg and touched an eyebrow in polite salutation, and diving into the inner mysteries of the frieze coat, brought thence a large hare, which he laid upon the little dresser. Quoth he, “Theer ’e be, Pen! ’E should keep ’ee goin’ for a day or so, I rackon.” “Aye, Jarge, an’ thank’ee!” “An’ now I’ll better be goin’.” “What be your ’urry, lad? There be rum i’ the cupboard an’ kittle’s a-biling.” “Aye, I see it be!” answered Mr. Potter, retreating to the door again. “Then sit ’ee down, do!” “Why, y’see, Pen, Oxham an’ ’is men be a-seekin’ ’ereabouts, an’ I won’t ’ave ’em mak’ trouble for you arl along on account o’ pore Potter——” “Bah!” exclaimed old Penelope fiercely. “What do I care for ’em! They can’t frutten me. So sit ye down, Jarge.” “Why, I bean’t ’ardly fit for comp’ny, Pen, and——” Mr. Potter suddenly held his peace, and they heard a distant shout, a clamour of voices, a growing hubbub. “They’ve winded me, I rackon!” said he. “Aye,” nodded Penelope composedly, “they’ll be breakin’ the door in prensly! So get ye below, Jarge; get ye down under stone.” “No, no, Pen, they’ll come here sure an’ pull the old place t’ bits, an’ if they should find me ’twould be bad for us both! No, I’ll cut stick whiles I can, Pen!” And, crossing to the front door, Mr. Potter reached to draw the bolts then hesitated and stood listening, while old Penelope peered through the lattice. “Ye be too late, Jarge,” said she calmly, “there be three or four of ’em waitin’ for ye in the road.” “An’ pore Potter thought as he’d tricked ’em in Dering Wood!” sighed Mr. Potter gloomily. “An’ if they tak’ me in your cottage, Pen, they’ll take you ’long as my accomplish——” “Let ’em!” said she serenely. “But as for you, get ’ee down under stone quick!” Mr. Potter still hesitated, hearkening to the shouts and hallooing, the awful sound of the hue and cry that grew louder every moment. “What is it?” questioned my lady, clasping her hands, for the terror seemed all about the cottage. “Oh, what does it mean?” “Hold y’r tongue, lass!” answered Penelope. “You’ll know soon enough, I rackon!” “The witch’s cottage!” boomed a voice. “The old hag’ll know where t’ find him, sure!” Here a clamour of assent. “If she doan’t open the door, burst it in!” boomed Mr. Oxham again.