"I'm a vile old woman that the likes of you
would never put eyes on twice if it wasn't for your business--none
knows it better than me. I don't know why I should put myself out to
help ye." Her tone had a touch of pathos under its hardness.
"I know why," I said, a little touched. "It's because you like me."
She turned a softened eye on me.
"You're right," she said almost tenderly, with a flash of womanly
feeling on her seamed and evil face. "I've took a fancy to ye and no
mistake, and I'd risk something to help ye."
"I knew you would," I said heartily.
"And that's what I come to do," she said, with a sparkle of pleasure
in her eye. "I've come to warn ye."
"New dangers?" I inquired cheerfully. My prudence suggested that I had
better omit any mention of the warning from Dicky Nahl.
"The same ones," said Mother Borton shortly, "only more of 'em."
Then she eyed me grimly, crouching in her chair with the appearance of
an evil bird of prey, and seemed to wait for me to speak.
"What is the latest plot?" I asked gravely, as I fancied that my light
manner grated on my strange guest.
"I don't know," she said slowly.
"But you know something," I argued.
"Maybe you know what I know better than I knows it myself," growled
Mother Borton with a significant glance.
I resigned myself to await her humor.
"Not at all," said I carelessly. "I only know that you've come to tell
me something, and that you'll tell it in your own good time.
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