"Nay, nay, master." "Thou askedst for a holiday, and I said `yes,' and here it is." "And my garden wanted it badly, master." "Yes; but I'm not going to holiday keep with a grumbler." "I'll never say another word, master, only that tool felt as if Mother Goodhugh had put a spell upon it. Hoop! wup!" The two latter ejaculations were uttered by the founder's man, as he lifted the barrow-handles, and then pushed the barrow along over the dewy grass-paths to where the cucumber-bed was to be made. "Mother Goodhugh never put a spell on anything in her life," said the founder, stoutly, as he began to unload the barrow in a little square marked out by four strong pegs. "I dunno about that, master," said Tom, rubbing his great bullet-head. "Why, Tom, Tom, thou'rt never such a fool as to believe in ghosts, and sprites, and witches?" said the founder, arranging the stable manure carefully with the fork. "Nay, nay, master. Oh, no. I don't _believe_ in 'em, but it was curus that the mould should blow up in that terrifying way after Mother Goodhugh had been." "Curious if it hadn't," cried the founder, patting down his work. "If Tom Croftly had given a look to the mould first, or if I had--as I ought to have done--there would have been no explosion." "Nay, master, I think she ill-lucked the mould." "And I think she poured a pail of water in, my lad. Why, Tom, you're six feet one high." "Six foot two and a half, master," said Tom, in a self-satisfied manner. "And as strong as a horse." "Ay, master, I am. I lifted our pony off his legs the other day." "And yet you're afraid of that poor half-daft old woman." "Nay, nay, master; not _afeard_," said Tom, stoutly. "I never felt afeard o' Mother Goodhugh yet; but you see, if she do happen like to be a witch, it be just as well to be civil to her like, and not do anything to make her curse one." "Curses don't do any harm, Tom, my lad," said the founder. "I hope they don't, master, for Mother Goodhugh do curse you a deal." "Let her," said the founder. "Shall I fetch they crumbs in a trug, master?" said Tom, watching intently the formation of the cucumber-bed. "We will have the bed a deal higher yet, Tom, and put the crumbs on the top, and a couple o' hills of nice warm earth a'top o' that. We must have some finer cucumbers this year than Dame Beckley grows up at the Moat." The manufacture of the cucumber-bed went on, and Tom Croftly had the satisfaction of fetching the "crumbs" in a trug or truck-basket; after which, the founder and he had a long turn at the patch of hops, which had been growing rather wild and away from their poles. The wild ones were carefully twisted round the supports, and tied at intervals with rushes to keep them in place, after which, it being seven o'clock, the founder proposed breakfast, and led the way to the house.