“O she goes to the house, and leaves a great basket of mushrooms, or a
frail of wimberries, or maybe a bit of mutton, if shepherd’s killed a
sheep. And if she meets him in the road, she’ll look at un with them
green eyes and smile as sweet as an October nut. And one night when
shepherd was drunk and they were late starting whome, what must she do
but go in the dusk and sing a wild song outside his window.”
“What did she sing?”
“O she sang—
‘_A vargin went a-souling in the dark of the moon._
_A soul-cake! A soul-cake!_
_O give it me kindly and give it me soon._
_A soul-cake! A soul-cake!_
_The young man he looks from his window so bright._
_Here’s a vargin come wailing in the dark of the night!_
_Now what’ll you give me for a soul-cake, my maid?_
_My body, my body for a soul-cake! she said._’
And I call that a right down improper song, dunna you, Prue?”
“What did _he_ think of it?”
“I wouldna demean myself to ask him. But she’s a very wild woman, is
Felena. She’ll ’tice him and tempt him to a fall if somebody dunna keep
her off. But I want to know what I be to say to Weaver if he asks me why
you were so busy a-saving of him.”
“Say nought.”
“Nought’s no answer.”
“It’s all he’ll get.”
“The way you stood over the fellow like one of the angels at Eden gate,
with that great knife!”
“It’s none of your business if I did.”
“Ah. It be.”
“For why?”
“Because I love ye, Prue.”
“Thanks be to goodness, we’re at Callard’s,” I said, as we came into the
fold, and the house door burst open and out came the five children,
Granfeyther Callard, Missis Callard and the baby, like bees from a skep.