poor sick gennleman—I heeard tell as how he's a naval captain? And you've been a - visiting Mas'r Tobit, have you, missie? That's good, that is—he can do with a bit o' young company."
"That he can," Dido agreed. "Ask me, he has his head in the clouds most o' the time, he's got some right corkbrained notions. And that old witch as sees arter him—Sannie or whatever she calls herself—it's a plaguy shame she couldn't be shipped back to Thingummy Island, her and her Joobie nuts."
Gusset glanced around him warily. "You're right there, missie," he said, sinking his voice.
"What are those Joobie nuts, anyways?"
"Summat she brought with her from Tiburon, Missie Twido. She grows 'em from seed, up where the old asparagus bed used to be. She alius has a plenty of 'em. Don't you go a-swallowing they hampery things, missie—they'll
give you the hot chills, don't they give you wuss."
"What happens when Tobit comes of age next week?"
"Why, nothing much, missie. I reckon things'll goo on pretty much as usual."
"He doesn't come into any cash, so's he could go off to school?"
"No, missie. Only the heirloom."
"What's the heirloom?" Gusset had spoken as if everyone would know of it.
"It be a liddle painting, Missie Dwite. Only small, smaller than the palm of your liddle hand, but it be painted on ivory, and I've heeard tell as it be worth thousands and thousands—enough to put everything to rights round here."
"Fancy! What's it of?" Dido asked curiously.
"'Tis a picture o' the Tower of Babel, missie. 'Tis painted by a famous painter, I've heeard tell. Anybody can see it—they keeps it at Perrorth, at the lawyers', a-set in a glass case in the wall."
Mention of Petworth recalled Dido to her own problems.
"Mister Gusset, I've got to get a message to London, urgent. How can I send it? I gave a letter to that Jem, but he don't look reliable to me."
"Jem Mugridge, missie? No, he ain't noways reliable."
"Well, then, what'd I best do? The message has to get to London before the—before the end o' next week."
"Best to goo yourself, missie."
"But I didn't oughta leave Cap'n Hughes while he's sick."
Gusset pushed back the sack in order to scratch his white head. He reflected.
"Well, missie," he said at length. "There's some chaps I know as gooes up and down to London regular. Trading chaps they be. Some mightn't say as how they was reliable, but I speak as I find, and I've alius found 'em trustable."
"D'you reckon they'd help me, mister?"
"I'd hatta ask," Gusset said cautiously. "I couldn't promise, see?"
"When will you see them?"
Gusset seemed unwilling to commit himself, but said he'd see them by Friday, maybe, and would try to let Dido know on that day.
"Now I'd best be getting in, missie. 'Tis turble late."
"Good night, then, Mister Gusset, and thanks."
The old man hobbled off, and Dido ran on down the avenue toward Dogkennel Cottages. Her talk with Gusset had cheered her and the queer visions and sounds that had troubled her before seemed to have died away; she whistled as she ran, and jumped over patches of shadow in the chalk cartway. But just this side of the cottages she came to an abrupt stop. Something—
surely
it was a dragon?—lay on the weedy grass in front of the little row of houses. Its eyes glittered. When it saw Dido it stretched slightly, and spread out its wings.
Dido bit her thumb, hard. Then she stooped, picked up a sizable chunk of flint from the track, and hurled it at the monster, which broke into about seven different sections. Three of them were sheep, which trotted nervously away.
Two or three more were chickens, flapping and flustered. One, which might have been a rat, scurried into the shadow of Mrs. Lubbage's cottage.
Mrs. Lubbage herself was sitting by her door on a broken-backed chair, gazing, apparently, into a pail of water.
"Evening, missus," Dido said civilly as she passed.
The wise woman lifted her head and gave Dido a long, expressionless stare. But she said
N. G. Simsion, James Roth