She had a knotted stick in one hand, and a basket with some pieces of
wool off the sheeps' backs which she had collected from the bushes in
the other. It was Dame Hursey, the wool-gatherer, well known to John
Shelley and every other shepherd in the neighbourhood, with all of whom
she often had a gossip, and celebrated in the district as the mother of
an unfortunate son, a fine, promising young sailor, who, having been
convicted of robbery some years ago, and served a long sentence in Lewes
gaol, had never been heard of since, unless his mother was in his
confidence.
A great gossip was Dame Hursey; she always knew all that went on in the
neighbourhood, for she led a wandering, restless life, never at home
except at night, sticking and wool-gathering in the autumn and winter,
haymaking and gleaning in the summer, gossiping, whenever she had a
chance, at all seasons. If anyone were likely to know anything about
this strange baby, always supposing the fairies had had nothing to do
with it, it was Dame Hursey, and the shepherd, being relieved of any
further anxiety about the sheep, walked with her and told her the story.
John Shelley was neither a quick-witted nor an observant man, except
with regard to the weather, every sign of which he took in, or he would
have noticed that Dame Hursey started perceptibly when he told her the
time he found the baby, and that a glance of quick intelligence shot
into her bright eyes as she heard the story; but when he had finished
she gave it as her firm opinion that the "Pharisees," and no one else,
must have brought the child, and she urged John on no account to part
with it, as there was no telling what revenge the fairies might take if
their wishes were set aside.
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