ite reasonable-like after livin' in the Weald awhile,
but our first twenty year or two she was odd-fashioned, no bounds. And
she was a won'erful hand with bees.' He cut away a little piece of
potato and threw it out to the door.

'Ah! I've heard say the Whitgifts could see further through a
millstone than most,' said Shoesmith. 'Did she, now?'

'She was honest-innocent of any nigromancin',' said Hobden. 'Only
she'd read signs and sinnifications out o' birds flyin', stars fallin',
bees hivin', and such. An, she'd lie awake--listenin' for calls, she
said.'

'That don't prove naught,' said Tom. 'All Marsh folk has been
smugglers since time everlastin'. 'Twould be in her blood to listen
out o' nights.'

'Nature-ally,' old Hobden replied, smiling. 'I mind when there was
smugglin' a sight nearer us than what the Marsh be. But that wasn't my
woman's trouble. 'Twas a passel o' no-sense talk'--he dropped his
voice--'about Pharisees.'

'Yes. I've heard Marsh men belieft in 'em.'Tom looked straight at the
wide-eyed children beside Bess.

'Pharisees,' cried Una. 'Fairies? Oh, I see!'

'People o' the Hills,' said the Bee Boy, throwing half of his potato
towards the door.

'There you be!' said Hobden, pointing at him. My boy--he has her eyes
and her out-gate sense. That's what she called 'em!'

'And what did you think of it all?'

'Um--um,' Hobden rumbled. 'A man that uses fields an' shaws after dark
as much as I've done, he don't go out of his road excep' for keepers.'

'But settin' that aside?' said Tom, coaxingly. 'I saw ye throw the
Good Piece out-at-doors just now. Do ye believe or--do ye?'

'There was a great black eye to that tater,' said Hobden indignantly.

'My liddle eye didn't see un, then. It looked as if you meant it
for--for Any One that might need it. But settin' that aside, d'ye
believe or--do ye?'

'I ain't sayin' nothin', because I've heard naught, an' I've see
naught. But if you was to say there was more things after dark in the
shaws than men, or fur, or feather, or fin, I dunno as I'd go far about
to call you a liar. Now turn again, Tom. What's your say?'

'I'm like you. I say nothin'. But I'll tell you a tale, an' you can
fit it as how you please.'

'Passel o' no-sense stuff,' growled Hobden, but he filled his pipe.

'The Marsh men they call it Dymchurch Flit,'Tom went on slowly. 'Hap
you have heard it?'

'My woman she've told it me scores o' times. Dunno as I did