"
"Iss, but I ded'n tell 'e all 'bout the Madern waters. The best day for 'em
be the fust Sunday in May; an' come that, the mothers did use to gaw up to
the chapel--dozens of 'em--wi' poor lil baabies. They dipped 'em naked in
the brook, an' 'twas just a miracle for rashes and braggety legs and sich
like. An', arterward, the mothers made offerin's to the saint. 'Twas awnly
the thot like, but folks reckoned the saint 'ud take the will for the act,
'cause poor people couldn' give a saint nothin' worth namin'."
Barren had heard of the votive offerings left by the faithful in past days
at St. Madron's shrine, but felt somewhat surprised to find the practice
dated back to a time so recent as Joan's infancy. He let her talk on, for
the subject was evidently dear to the girl.
"And what did the mothers give the saint?"
"Why, rags mostly. Just a rag tored off a petticoat, or some sich thing.
They hanged 'em up around about on the thorn bushes to shaw as they'd a
done more for the good saint if they'd had the power. An' theer's another
marvelous thing as washin' in thicky waters done: it kep' the fairies
off--the bad fairies, I mean. 'Cause theer'm gude an' bad piskeys, same as
gude an' bad men folks."
"You believe in fairies, Joan?"
She looked at him shyly, but he had apparently asked for information and
was not in the least amused.
"I dunnaw. P'raps. Iss, I do, then! Many wiser'n me do b'lieve in 'em.
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