J. S. Fletcher

“ The young woman, who showed no disposition to remove herself, gave the visitor a glance of intelligence.
"Oh, well, we get other people than old antiquaries to see us sometimes," she answered, "Besides, I haven't been home so very long. I've lived in London a good deal."
"My spot," said Brixey, who was rapidly reckoning up his new acquaintance. "Ah, there's nothing like London, is there? ”

“ People cross through the wood there to get outside the town into the country. There's a queer old place outside there that these antiquaries go to see—Mardene Mill."
"Ah, I was thinking of strolling that way myself," said Brixey. "Which way does one go? I'll chuck the Roman remains for this morning—see 'em another time, perhaps."
The young woman led him outside and pointed to the postern gate in the trees.
"Straight through," she said. Then, as Brixey showed signs of moving, she gave him a demure glance. "Coming back again sometime?" she asked. ”

“ All right; but if he did—and I ain’t sayin’ he didn’t, 'cause I’ve no doubt he did—if he did, they’d been put there since last night.
"I been round about here for three days along o’ them sheep, and there weren’t no hat and umbrella at that spot when I went home six o’clock yesterday, and that’s gospel truth."
"Tell Crabbe that?" asked Brixey.
"Ain’t much good ever tellin’ they chaps anything they don’t want to hear, master," replied the shepherd sardonically. "Don’t suit ’em always But I did tell ’em." ”