When the mutton pasty was done, and Peggy and Smiler had dined well also, out I went to wash at the pump, being a lover of soap and water, at all risk, except of my dinner.  And John Fry, who cared very little to wash, save Sabbath days in his own soap, and who had kept me from the pump by threatening loss of the dish, out he came in a satisfied manner, with a piece of quill in his hand, to lean against a door-post, and listen to the horses feeding, and have his teeth ready for supper.

Then a lady’s-maid came out, and the sun was on her face, and she turned round to go back again; but put a better face upon it, and gave a trip and hitched her dress, and looked at the sun full body, lest the hostlers should laugh that she was losing her complexion.  With a long Italian glass in her fingers very daintily, she came up to the pump in the middle of the yard, where I was running the water off all my head and shoulders, and arms, and some of my breast even, and though I had glimpsed her through the sprinkle, it gave me quite a turn to see her, child as I was, in my open aspect.  But she looked at me, no whit abashed, making a baby of me, no doubt, as a woman of thirty will do, even with a very big boy when they catch him on a hayrick, and she said to me in a brazen manner, as if I had been nobody, while I was shrinking behind the pump, and craving to get my shirt on, “Good leetle boy, come hither to me.  Fine heaven! how blue your eyes are, and your skin like snow; but some naughty man has beaten it black.  Oh, leetle boy, let me feel it.  Ah, how then it must have hurt you!  There now, and you shall love me.”

All this time she was touching my breast, here and there, very lightly, with her delicate brown fingers, and I understood from her voice and manner that she was not of this country, but a foreigner by extraction.  And then I was not so shy of her, because I could talk better English than she; and yet I longed for my jerkin, but liked not to be rude to her.

“If you please, madam, I must go.  John Fry is waiting by the tapster’s door, and Peggy neighing to me.  If you please, we must get home to-night; and father will be waiting for me this side of the telling-house.”

“There, there, you shall go, leetle dear, and perhaps I will go after you.  I have taken much love of you.  But the baroness is hard to me.  How far you call it now to the bank of the sea at Wash—­Wash—­”

“At Watchett, likely you mean, madam.  Oh, a very long way, and the roads as soft as the road to Oare.”

“Oh-ah, oh-ah—­I shall remember; that is the place where my leetle boy live, and some day I will come seek for him.  Now make the pump to flow, my dear, and give me the good water.  The baroness will not touch unless a nebule be formed outside the glass.”