ing
farmers; the goats furnished milk and "kiddy-pies;" and when there was
neither milking nor sand-carrying to be done, old Will Passmore just
sat under a sunny rock and watched the buck-goats rattle their horns
together, thinking about nothing at all, and taking very good care
all the while neither to inquire nor to see who came in and out of his
little cottage in the glen.

The prophetess, when Rose approached her oracular cave, was seated on
a tripod in front of the fire, distilling strong waters out of
penny-royal. But no sooner did her distinguished visitor appear at the
hatch, than the still was left to take care of itself, and a clean
apron and mutch having been slipt on, Lucy welcomed Rose with endless
courtesies, and--"Bless my dear soul alive, who ever would have thought
to see the Rose of Torridge to my poor little place!"

Rose sat down: and then? How to begin was more than she knew, and she
stayed silent a full five minutes, looking earnestly at the point of
her shoe, till Lucy, who was an adept in such cases, thought it best
to proceed to business at once, and save Rose the delicate operation
of opening the ball herself; and so, in her own way, half fawning, half
familiar--

"Well, my dear young lady, and what is it I can do for ye? For I guess
you want a bit of old Lucy's help, eh? Though I'm most mazed to see ye
here, surely. I should have supposed that pretty face could manage they
sort of matters for itself. Eh?"

Rose, thus bluntly charged, confessed at once, and with many blushes and
hesitations, made her soon understand that what she wanted was "To have
her fortune told."

"Eh? Oh! I see. The pretty face has managed it a bit too well already,
eh? Tu many o' mun, pure fellows? Well, 'tain't every mayden has her
pick and choose, like some I know of, as be blest in love by stars
above. So you hain't made up your mind, then?"

Rose shook her head.

"Ah--well," she went on, in a half-bantering tone. "Not so asy, is it,
then? One's gude for one thing, and one for another, eh? One has the
blood, and another the money."

And so the "cunning woman" (as she truly was), talking half to herself,
ran over all the names which she thought likely, peering at Rose all the
while out of the corners of her foxy bright eyes, while Rose stirred the
peat ashes steadfastly with the point of her little shoe, half angry,
half ashamed, half frightened, to find that "the cunning woman" had
guessed so well both her