mong the neighbours. I told her, yes, there was a
lady lodged two doors off that I was very intimate with. "But hast thou
no way out backward to go to her?" says she. Now it happened there was
a back-door in the garden, by which we usually went and came to and from
the house, so I told her of it. "Well, well," says she, "go out and make
a visit then, and leave the rest to me." Away I run, told the lady (for
I was very free there) that I was a widow to-day, my spouse being gone
to London, so I came not to visit her, but to dwell with her that day,
because also our landlady had got strangers come from London. So having
framed this orderly lie, I pulled some work out of my pocket, and added
I did not come to be idle.

As I went out one way, my friend the Quaker went the other to receive
this unwelcome guest. The girl made but little ceremony, but having bid
the coachman ring at the gate, gets down out of the coach and comes to
the door, a country girl going to the door (belonging to the house), for
the Quaker forbid any of my maids going. Madam asked for my Quaker by
name, and the girl asked her to walk in.

Upon this, my Quaker, seeing there was no hanging back, goes to her
immediately, but put all the gravity upon her countenance that she was
mistress of, and that was not a little indeed.

When she (the Quaker) came into the room (for they had showed my
daughter into a little parlour), she kept her grave countenance, but
said not a word, nor did my daughter speak a good while; but after some
time my girl began and said, "I suppose you know me, madam?"

"Yes," says the Quaker, "I know thee." And so the dialogue went on.

_Girl._ Then you know my business too?

_Quaker._ No, verily, I do not know any business thou canst have here
with me.

_Girl._ Indeed, my business is not chiefly with you.

_Qu._ Why, then, dost thou come after me thus far?

_Girl._ You know whom I seek. [_And with that she cried._]

_Qu._ But why shouldst thou follow me for her, since thou know'st that I
assured thee more than once that I knew not where she was?

_Girl._ But I hoped you could.

_Qu._ Then thou must hope that I did not speak the truth, which would be
very wicked.

_Girl._ I doubt not but she is in this house.

_Qu._ If those be thy thoughts, thou may'st inquire in the house; so
thou hast no more business with me. Farewell! [_Offers to go._]

_Girl._ I would not be uncivil; I beg you to let me see her.

_Qu._ I am here