“But are any of ’em near here?” said the men’s voices; the women’s voices chiming in when it was said, and prolonging the strain.

“Quite near enough,” said Betty, rousing herself. “Don’t ye be afeard for me, neighbours.”

“But you are not fit to travel. Where are you going?” was the next compassionate chorus she heard.

“I’m a going to London when I’ve sold out all,” said Betty, rising with difficulty. “I’ve right good friends in London. I want for nothing. I shall come to no harm. Thankye. Don’t ye be afeard for me.”

A well-meaning bystander, yellow-legginged and purple-faced, said hoarsely over his red comforter, as she rose to her feet, that she “oughtn’t to be let to go.”

“For the Lord’s love don’t meddle with me!” cried old Betty, all her fears crowding on her. “I am quite well now, and I must go this minute.”