When I had reached it and told him my story, he
asked if my father knew I had come back. When he heard that he did
know, he threw down his pitchfork, and hastened with me. We searched
every house about the place, but could find no sign whatever of the
woman.
"Are you sure it wasn't all a fancy of your own, Ranald?" said Turkey.
"Quite sure. Ask my father. She passed as near us as you are to me
now."
Turkey hurried away to search the hayloft once more, but without
success; and at last I heard my father calling me.
I ran to him, and told him there was no woman to be seen.
"That's odd," he said. "She must have passed straight through the yard
and got out at the other side before you went in. While you were
looking for her, she was plodding away out of sight. Come along, and
let us have our tea."
I could not feel quite satisfied about it, but, as there was no other
explanation, I persuaded myself that my father was right.
The next Saturday evening I was in the nursery with my brothers. It
was growing dusk, when I heard a knocking. Mrs. Mitchell did not seem
to hear it, so I went and opened the door. There was the same beggar
woman. Rather frightened, I called aloud, and Mrs. Mitchell came. When
she saw it was a beggar, she went back and reappeared with a wooden
basin filled with meal, from which she took a handful as she came in
apparent preparation for dropping it, in the customary way, into the
woman's bag.
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