ard her when the two sons pushed her off.
That boat she sunk lower an' lower, but all the Widow could see in it was
her boys movin' hampered-like to get at the tackle. Up sail they did, an'
away they went, deep as a Rye barge, away into the off-shore mistes, an'
the Widow Whitgift she sat down and eased her grief till mornin' light.'

'I never heard she was _all_ alone,' said Hobden.

'I remember now. The one called Robin he stayed with her, they tell. She
was all too grievious to listen to his promises.'

'Ah! She should ha' made her bargain beforehand. I allus told my woman
so!' Hobden cried.

'No. She loaned her sons for a pure love-loan, bein' as she sensed the
Trouble on the Marshes, an' was simple good-willing to ease it.' Tom
laughed softly. 'She done that. Yes, she done that! From Hithe to
Bulverthithe, fretty man an' petty maid, ailin' woman an' wailin' child,
they took the advantage of the change in the thin airs just about _as_
soon as the Pharisees flitted. Folks come out fresh an' shining all over
the Marsh like snails after wet. An' that while the Widow Whitgift sat
grievin' on the Wall. She might have beleft us--she might have trusted her
sons would be sent back! She fussed, no bounds, when their boat come in
after three days.'

'And, of course, the sons were both quite cured?' said Una.

'No-o. That would have been out o' Nature. She got 'em back _as_ she sent
'em. The blind man he hadn't seen naught of anything, an' the dumb man
nature-ally, he couldn't say aught of what he'd seen. I reckon that was
why the Pharisees pitched on 'em for the ferrying job.'

'But what did you--what did Robin promise the Widow?' said Dan.

'What _did_ he promise, now?' Tom pretended to think. 'Wasn't your woman a
Whitgift, Ralph? Didn't she say?'

'She told me a passel o' no-sense stuff when he was born.' Hobden pointed
at his son. 'There was always to be one of 'em that could see further into
a millstone than most.'

'Me! That's me!' said the Bee Boy so suddenly that they all laughed.

'I've got it now!' cried Tom, slapping his knee. 'So long as Whitgift
blood lasted, Robin promised there would allers be one o' her stock
that--that no Trouble 'ud lie on, no Maid 'ud sigh on, no Night could
frighten, no Fright could harm, no Harm could make sin, an' no Woman could
make a fool.'

'Well, ain't that just me?' said the Bee Boy, where he sat in the silver
square of the great September moon that was staring into the