“No, I am not frightened,” answered Sir John. “Why then,” quoth she, “when you’m done wi’ that cabbage o’ mine, there be an onion over yonder, agin the dik!” Sir John deposited the cabbage, and having retrieved the errant onion, added this also to the well-laden basket. “That is all, I think?” said he, glancing about. “Aye!” she nodded. “An’ it be plain t’ know you be a stranger hereabouts. There bean’t a man nor bye, aye, an’ mortal few o’ the women, would ha’ stooped to du so much for poor old Penelope Haryott, I reckon.” “And pray why not?” “Because they say I be a witch, an’ they be arl main fruttened o’ me, an’ them as say they ain’t, du hate me most. Aye, me! I’ve been thrattened wi’ the fire afore now; an’ only las’ March, an’ main cold it were, they was for a-duckin’ o’ me in the Cuckmere.... Ah, an’ they’d ha’ done it tu if Passon Hartop ’adn’t galloped over tu Alfriston an’ fetched Sir Hector MacLean as knew me years ago, an’ Jarge Potter as I’ve dandled a babe on my knee. Sir Hector were main fierce again the crowd an’ swore t’ cut any man’s throat as dared tetch me, an’ Jarge Potter ’ad on his old frieze coat—so the crowd let me go ... they ain’t tried to harm me since.... But ’tis very sure you be a stranger in these parts, young man.” “Indeed, yes!” sighed Sir John, once more oppressed by the sense of his responsibility and of the duties left undone. “An’ yet there be a look about ’ee, young man, as do whisper me you was barn here in Sussex an’ not s’ fur away, I reckon.” “Oh ... begad!” he exclaimed, starting. “What should make you think so, pray?” “Y’r hands, young sir, the high cock o’ your chin, y’r pretty eyes ... they do mind me of other eyes as looked into mine ... long afore you was barn ... when the world was happier.... Though ’e were bigger’n you, young man ... so tall an’ noble-lookin’! Alack, ’twas long ago an’ the world be changed for the worse since then—’specially High Dering! Aye, me! I’ll be a-goin’, young sir, thankin’ ye for your kindness to a solitary old woman.” “How far are you going?” he questioned. “Only to the village yonder.” “This basket is much too heavy for you.” “Lud, young master, I do be stronger than I look!” she answered, with a mirthless laugh. “Aye, tur’ble strong I be or I should ha’ died years agone, I reckon. So doan’t ’ee trouble, sir ... besides, folk ’ud stare t’ see s’fine a young man along o’ me, an’ a-carryin’ my old trug an’ arl ... so let be!” Sir John smiled, took up the basket, reached his stick whence it leaned against the stile and set off with old Penelope Haryott, suiting his pace to hers and talking with such blithe ease that old Penelope, forgetting her rustic pride at last, talked in her turn, as she might have done “when the world was younger and better.”