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One evening, Lester and the two sisters were walking with the Student along the valley that led to the house of the latter, when they saw an old woman engaged in collecting firewood among the bushes, and a little girl holding out her apron to receive the sticks with which the crone's skinny arms unsparingly filled it.
And amongst the women and children and loafers that were crowding around was Crone's housekeeper, a great, heavy, rough-haired Irishwoman called Nance Maguire, and she was waving her big arms and shaking her fists at a couple of policemen, whom she was adjuring to bring out the murderer, so that she might do justice on him then and there all this being mingled with encomiums on the victim.
This was thought nothing of at the time, but the old crone's curiosity was recalled to mind after the event took place, which I shall briefly mention. On the night of Friday, 16th August, 1816, about ten o'clock, six men wearing masks, and armed with pistols, might have been seen approaching Mr. Yates' house.
Come, now, on your oath yes or no?" "Yes!" admitted Chisholm; "he did." "But he just as readily admitted he was in possession of Crone's purse? Again yes or no?" "Yes," said Chisholm. "Yes that's so." That was all Mr. Lindsey asked Chisholm. It was not much more that he asked the doctor. But there was more excitement about what he did ask him arising out of something that he did in asking it.
As he splashed on the water, he amused himself by listening again to old Rose. She was now complaining that some white young'uns had called her "raving Rose." She hoped "God'lmighty would send down two she bears and eat 'em up." Peter was amazed by the old crone's ability to maintain an unending flow of concentrated and aimless virulence.
I set out for the office earlier than usual that morning, and went round by way of the back street at the bottom of which Crone's store stood facing the river. I sometimes walked round that way of a morning, and I knew that Crone was as a rule at his place very early, amongst his old rubbish, or at his favourite game of gossiping with the fishermen that had their boats drawn up there.
"It is long past your usual hour for visiting your grandmother. Had you not better go? I think it likely your father will sleep some time. The change of scene and the fresh air have lulled him into a tranquil slumber." "And your voice had nothing to do with his rest?" asked Maurice, tenderly. "Any old crone's would serve as well for a lullaby," she answered, playfully.
When the shutter swung open, it displayed the crone standing on one foot, wearing a man's grimy sock, which had fallen down over a broken, run-down shoe. In Peter's mood the thought of this wretched old woman putting on such garments morning after morning was unspeakably pathetic. He thought of his own mother, who had lived and died only a shade or two removed from the old crone's condition.
The young priest had hearkened to the crone's discourse with an expression of the most exquisite distress. When she had finished, he arose, and disregarding his repulsive companion's efforts to detain him, departed hastily from the temple.
The dog sprang on the crone, and she struck the generous dog with the club of magic; and there he lay. But the herd struggled for a hold of the club of magic, and with one blow on the top of the head she was on earth in the twinkling of an eye. He went forward, up a little, and there was spoil! Gold and silver, and each thing more precious than another, in the crone's castle.
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