He's seen me through the winder.

Mercy on us! he's opening the gate; he's coming to the door!" As she spoke, a shadow passed before the window, and some one knocked.
Mrs.Eccles hastily thrust her darning-needle into the front of her bodice, the general _rendezvous_ of the pins and needles of the establishment, and proceeded to open the door and plant herself in front of it.
Ruth caught a glimpse of an erect light gray figure in the sunshine, surmounted by a brown face, and the lightest of light gray hats.

Close behind stood a black poodle of a dignified and self-engrossed deportment, wearing its body half shaved, but breaking out in ruffles round its paws, and a tuft at the end of a stiffly undemonstrative tail.
"The key of the church is kep' at Jones's, by the pump," said Mrs.
Eccles, in the brusque manner peculiar to the freeborn Briton when brought in contact with a foreigner.
"Thank you, madam," was the reply, in the most courteous of tones, and the gray hat was off in a moment, showing a very dark, cropped head, "but I do not look for the church.

I only ask for the way to the house of the pastor, Mr.Alwynn." Mrs.Eccles gave full and comprehensive directions in a very high key, accompanied by much gesticulation, and then the gray hat was replaced, and the gray figure, followed by the black poodle, marched down the little garden path again, and disappeared from view.
Mrs.Eccles drew a long breath, and turned to her visitor again.
"Well, my dear, and did ye ever see the like of that?
And his head, Miss Ruth! Did ye take note of his head?
Not so much as a shadder of a parting.

All the same all the way over; and asking the way to the rectory.