“Ha’ done, young man, ha’ done!” she cried distressfully. “He’ll raise the village again’ me ... he’ll ha’ me in the stocks again—an’ arl along o’ you! An’ I can’t bear they stocks like I used to ... they cramps my old bones s’cruel.... O Lord ha’ mercy! The stocks!” And, leaning on her staff, she bowed her white head and sobbed miserably. In a moment Sir John was out of the ditch and, standing beside her, laid one white hand upon her shoulder, patting it gently. “Penelope,” said he softly, “don’t weep! No man shall do you violence.... I swear none shall harm you any more ... so be comforted!” “An’ who be you t’ promise s’much?” she demanded fiercely. “One who will keep his word——” “I be so old,” she wailed—“so old an’ lonesome an’ weary of ’t all.” “But very courageous!” he added gently. “And I think, Penelope, nay, I’m sure there are better days coming for you—and me. So come, let us go on, confident in ourselves and the future.” And taking stick and basket in one hand, he slipped the other within his aged companion’s arm and they tramped on again. “You speak mighty bold, young man!” said she after a while, with another of her keen glances. “Aye, an’ look mighty bold—why?” “Perhaps because I feel mighty bold!” he answered lightly. “Aye, like ye did when he knocked ye into the ditch, young man!” “The ditch?” repeated Sir John. “Aye, begad, the ditch! ’S heart, it needed but this!” And here he laughed so blithely that old Penelope stared and, forgetting her recent tears, presently smiled. “Ye tumbled so ’mazin’ sudden, young man,” she nodded. “An’ then I never ’eerd no one talk po’try in a dik’ afore.” “And you probably never will again, Penelope. The occasion was unique and my extempore rhymes none too bad.” “Eh—eh, young man, did ye mak’ ’em up ... a-settin’ in t’ dik’ ... arl out o’ y’r head? Lord!” So they reached the village at last, its deep-thatched cottages nestled beneath the sheltering down; a quiet, sleepy place where a brook gurgled pleasantly and rooks cawed lazily amid lofty, ancient trees; a place of peace, it seemed, very remote from the world. But, as they went, rose a stir, a flutter, a growing bustle; heads peered from casements, from open doorways and dim interiors; children ceased their play to point, a woman laughed shrilly, men, home-coming from the fields, stood to stare, to laugh, to hoot and jeer; and foremost, among a group of loungers before the ancient inn, Sir John espied Mr. Sturton. And thus amid hoots, jeers and derisive laughter came Sir John to High Dering. CHAPTER XV WHICH INTRODUCES A FRIEZE COAT AND ITS WEARER, ONE GEORGE POTTER “Old gammer du ha’ found ’ersen a man at last!” cried a voice. “Ah, the danged owd witch du ha’ ’witched hersel’ a sweet’eart fur sure!” roared another. “An’ sech a nice-lookin’ young man an’ arl!” quoth a matron with a fat baby in her arms, whom Sir John saluted with a bow, whereupon she hid blushing face behind her plump baby.