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The opinions of the gossips varied, some thinking the babe might belong to some of the Queen of Scotland's party fleeing to France, others fathering her on the refugees from the persecutions in Flanders, a third party believing her a mere fisherman's child, and one lean, lantern-jawed old crone, Mistress Rotherford, observing, "Take my word, Mrs. Talbot, and keep her not with you.

"Little Wickham!" repeated the woman, laughing "Bless you, sir, where do you come from? It's Little Wrestham: sure every body knows, near Lantry; and keep the pike till you come to the turn at Rotherford, and then you strike off into the by-road to the left, and then turn again at the ford to the right.

Little Wickham! repeated the woman, laughing Bless you, sir, where do you come from? It's Little Wrestham; surely everybody knows, near Lantry; and keep the PIKE till you come to the turn at Rotherford, and then you strike off into the by-road to the left, and then again turn at the ford to the right.

"Heaven rest his soul!" echoed Susan, and the ladies around chimed in. They had come for one excitement, and here was another. "There! See but what I said!" quoth Mrs. Rotherford, uplifting a skinny finger to emphasise that the poor little flotsome had already brought evil. "Nay," said the portly wife of a merchant, "begging your pardon, this may be a fat instead of a lean sorrow.