"—She was in the passage beyant, and just the voice of her came through the crack o' the dure. She says, says she: 'If a body was to fall—an' fall—an' fall—and there was naught to stop him, it's comical to think where he'd light on.' . . . Her voice was as solemn as the church organ, 'm. Another day she says: 'If I could only git the moon out of this passage, there'd be room for my head to whirl round and round!' 'Excuse me,' I says to the cobbler, 'I'll call for thim shoes later.'"
"What appearance has she?" inquired Mrs. Handsomebody.
"Noan at all. I've niver seed her. No one has ever seed her. She's more banshee than woman, I do belave."
True to her threat, Mrs. Handsomebody stopped at the cobbler's that afternoon, at the outset of our accustomed promenade. The birds were in full chorus as we descended the steps into the shop.
The cobbler got to his feet, and touched his forehead respectfully. This pleased Mrs. Handsomebody.
"My good man," she said, "You have sadly overcharged me for putting a new heel on this child's boot. I said, when I sent it that it was worth sixpence—"
The cobbler opened his mouth to speak.
[261]
