They walked on again. "Tell me about this lady. Her name is Janet, but how must I address her?" "Her name's Beaker--Janet Beaker. It's a good name for her. You'll see. She's something between that and a bird." "Is she married?" "Janet? I should think not. She's a farmer. She takes butter and eggs to the market every week. You can see her driving there, but you'd never think she saw you. She does, though, and there are men hereabouts that know it. Did my mother never tell you the tale about the drunken men? Oh no, she wouldn't. She pretends there are no such things. Well, she saw them in the town, and they'd had too much. They were from these parts, and she knew them, and she never said a word to them, so they say--but what can they have known about it?--nor so much as looked at them; but they came back at her cart-tail, all three of them, each blaming another, and not one of them can tell how it happened. And those three have been bad friends ever since. But they've never borne her any malice. If they did that it would be like giving her the credit." "No, they couldn't do that. The women here seem to be in the ascendant." "They are that. You wait till you see Janet." "Miss Beaker. I must remember." "She'll not expect to be called that. I don't believe she's been called that in her life. You can't say that. It's--all wrong." "Really? Well, perhaps I can avoid saying anything. One often has to, and I admit formality seems out of place. Here things seem clear and simple." "But they're not. Sometimes"--he took a deep breath--"I feel as if I'm in 'Macbeth.' It's a black feeling--ugly." "But this morning----" "Oh, well, I didn't say it was always." They had rounded the hill, and now a dog barked. Alexander called to it. "Come on, Jenny--come on." "I must own I am always afraid of dogs." "Jenny's all right, but Janet's got six of them altogether." "Six!" He became uncomfortably aware of his legs. "And she can break horses. She ought to have been a man." A voice came from the trees ahead of them. "And do you think I ought to have been a hare because my ears are sharp? And a cat because I can see in the dark?" "Oh, Janet, I might have known you'd hear. Here's Mr. Webb." They trod softly on the fallen needles of the larches, and came to the door of the house where Janet stood, large and indistinct. "Will you come in?" she said. "No; let's stay in the wood, if you'll talk to us." "I've no more tales." "The old ones, then." "I must thank you," Edward Webb began, peering upwards at the tall figure whose face was no more to him than a pale oval. "I've wanted to see you, for I dreamt of you one night," she interrupted. "But I cannot see him in the wood, for all my cat's eyes, Alexander, so you'll have to come in." She turned into the kitchen and, getting a light from the low fire, held a candle aloft. Edward Webb blinked nervously. "Did you dream true, Janet?" "When did I dream false?" "Tell us the dream."