and apple jelly, urging us, almost nudging us with her thin elbows to make us eat.
“Don’t you like ’em, don’t you? Well eat ’em, eat ’em then. Go on Emily, go on, eat some more. Only don’t tell Tom—don’t tell Tom when ’e comes in,”—she shook her head and laughed her shrilling, weird laughter.
As we were going she came out with us, and went running on in front. We could not help noting how ragged and unkempt was her short black skirt. But she hastened around us, hither and thither like an excited fowl, talking in her high-pitched, unintelligible manner. I could not believe the brooding mill was in her charge. I could not think this was the Strelley Mill of a year ago. She fluttered up the steep orchard bank in front of us. Happening to turn round and see Emily and me smiling at each other she began to laugh her strident, weird laughter saying, with a leer:
“Emily, he’s your sweetheart, your sweetheart Emily! You never told me!” and she laughed aloud.
We blushed furiously. She came away from the edge of the sluice gully, nearer to us, crying:
“You’ve been here o’ nights, haven’t you Emily—haven’t you?” and she laughed again. Then she sat down suddenly, and pointing above our heads, shrieked:
“Ah, look there!”—we looked and saw the mistletoe. “Look at her, look at her! How many kisses a night, Emily?—Ha! Ha! kisses all the year! Kisses o’ nights in a lonely place.”
She went on wildly for a short time, then she
