I can just mind him, allus at his books, to his
faither's pride. Then he went away to Newton to join some lawyer body
an' larn his business. An' I mind the two small maids as was my elder
sisters and comed betwixt me an' Joel. Both died--like candles blawed
out roughly by the wind. They wasn't made o' the stuff to stand
Dartymoor winters."

She paused for a few moments, then proceeded:

"Theer, to west of the yard, is a croft as had corn in it wan year,
though 'tis permanent grass now, seemin'ly. Your faither corned through
theer like a snake by night more'n wance; an' oftentimes I crept down
house, shivering wi' fear an' love, to meet him under moonlight while
the auld folks slept. Tim he'd grawed to a power wi' the gypsy people by
that time; but faither was allus hard against un. He hated wanderers in
tents or 'pon wheels, or even sea-gwaine sailor-men--he carried it that
far. Then comed a peep o' day when Tim's bonny yellow caravan 'peared
around the corner of that windin' road what goes all across the Moor. At
the first stirring of light, I was ready an' skipped out; an', to this
hour, I mind the last thing as touched me kindly was the red tongue of
the sheep-dog. He ran a mile after the van, unhappy-like; then Tim
ordered un away, an' he stood in the white road an' held up his paw an'
axed a question as plain as a human. So Tim hit un hard wi' a gert
stone, an' he yelped an' gived me up for lost, an' bolted home wi' his
tail between his legs an' his eye thrawed back full of sadness over his
shoulder. Ess fay! I can see the dust puffin' up under his pads in the
grey dawn so clear as I can see you."

Again she stopped, but only for breath.

"They never answered my writings. Faither wouldn't an' mother didn't
dare. But when I was near my time, Timothy, reckoning they'd yield then
if ever, arranged to be in Chagford when I should be brought to bed. Yet
'twas ordained differ'nt, an' the roundy-poundy, wheer the caravan was
drawed up when the moment corned, be just round theer on Metherill hill,
as you knaws. So it happened right under the very walls of Newtake. In
the stone circle you comed; an' by night arterwards, sweatin' for
terror, your gran'mother, as had heard tell of it, sneaked from Newtake
to kiss me an' press you to her body. Faither never knawed till long
arter; an' though mother used to say she heard un forgive me on his
death-bed, 'twas her awn pious wish echoing in her awn ears I reckon.
But that's al