“Sarvant, ladies! The weaver, if you please.”
If we pleased! As if we wouldna be pleased with anything he met say! So
he was the weaver! Well, it made no manner difference to me. If he’d
said he was the king of Fairyland or a murderer with the bloodhounds
after un, it would ha’ been all one to me.
“Kester Woodseaves, if _you_ please, missus,” he says in a kind of merry
mockery, looking towards Missis Sexton, she being the biggest, both in
tallness and roundness.
Then Missis Beguildy brought him to the fire and made him take bite and
sup. But I kept out of sight.
“Be you from far, sir?” asks Felena in her lingering way. Her lips were
red and pleasant, though not kind.
“Lullingford, missus,” he made answer, with a measuring look. “Neither
very near nor very far.”
“As the crow flies, near,” she said, as if she pleaded.
“Only we bain’t crows, missus.”
“I live on the mountain over yonder,” she says; “and I’m nigher to
Lullingford, a power, than these.”
“A longish ride.”
“Not far! It be on your road to—a’most everywhere.”