“Deary me, what thoo minds it weel eneuf.  It was the day Wilson was cocking Angus hay in the low meedow.  Mistress Garth came by in the evening, and stood in the road opposite to look at the north leets.  ‘Come, Sarah,’ says auld Wilson, ’show us yan of thy cantrips; I divn’t care for thee.’  But he’d scarce said it when a whirlblast came frae the fell and owerturn’t iv’ry cock.  Then Sarah she laughed oot loud, and she said, ‘Ye’ll want na mair cantrips, I reckon.’  She was reet theer.”

“Like eneuf,” said several voices amid a laugh.

“He was hard on Mother Garth was Wilson,” continued Matthew; “I nivver could mak ought on it.  He called her a witch, and seurly she is a laal bit uncanny.”

“Maybe she wasn’t always such like,” said Mr. Jackson.

“Maybe not, John,” said Matthew; “but she was olas a cross-grained yan sin the day she came first to Wy’burn.”

“I thought her a harmless young body with her babby,’ said Mr. Jackson.

“Let me see,” said Reuben Thwaite; “that must be a matter of six-and-twenty year agone.”

“Mair ner that,” said Matthew.  “It was long afore I bought my new loom, and that’s six-and-twenty year come Christmas.”

“Ey, I mind they said she’d run away frae the man she’d wedded somewhere in the north,” observed Adam Rutledge through the pewter which he had raised to his lips.  “Ower fond of his pot for Sarah.”

“Nowt o’ t’ sort,” said Matthew.  “He used to pommel and thresh her up and doon, and that’s why she cut away frae him, and that’s why she’s sic a sour yan.”

“Ey, that’s reets on it,” said Reuben.

“But auld Wilson’s spite on her olas did cap me a laal bit,” said Matthew again.  “He wanted her burnt for a witch.  ’It’s all stuff and bodderment aboot the witches,’ says I to him ya day; ’there be none.  God’s aboon the devil!’ ‘Nay, nay,’ says Wilson, ’it’ll be past jookin’ when the heed’s off.  She’ll do something for some of us yit.’”

“Hush,” whispered Reuben, as at that moment the door opened and a tall, ungainly young dalesman, with red hair and with a dogged expression of face, entered the inn.

A little later, amid a whirl of piercing wind, Ralph Ray entered, shaking the frozen snow from his cloak with long skirts, wet and cold, his staff in his hand, and his dog at his heels.  Old Matthew gave him a cheery welcome.

“It’s like ye’d as lief be in this snug room as on the fell to-neet, Ralph?” There was a twinkle in the old man’s eye; he had meant more than he said.

“I’d full as soon be here as in Sim’s cave, Matthew, if that’s what you mean,” said Ralph, as he held the palms of his hands to the fire and then rubbed them on his knees.

“Thou wert nivver much of a fool, Ralph,” Matthew answered.  And with a shovel that facetious occupant of the hearth lifted another cob of turf on to the fire.

“It’s lang sin’ Sim sat aboon sic a lowe as that,” he added, with a motion of his head downwards.