'No, I wasn't listening, but I couldn't help hearing, could I? And you sounded as if you were having an argument with someone...'
'Can you remember everything I said?'
'I think so.'
Granny staggered on a little, and stopped in a puddle of black water that began to rise over her boots.
'Can you forget?' she said.
'Pardon?'
'You wouldn't be so unkind as to pass on to anyone else the ramblings of a poor of woman who was probably off her head, would you?' said Granny slowly.
Oats thought for a moment. 'What ramblings were these, Mistress Weatherwax?'
Granny seemed to sag with relief.
'Ah. Good thing you asked, really, bein' as there weren't any.'
Black bubbles arose from the bog around Granny Weatherwax as the two of them watched each other. Some sort of truce had been declared.
'I wonder, young man, if you would be so good as to pull me out?'
This took some time and involved a branch from a nearby tree and, despite Oats's best efforts, Granny's first foot came out of its boot. And once one boot has said goodbye in a peat bog, the other one is bound, to follow out of fraternal solidarity.
Granny ended up on what was comparatively dry and comparatively land wearing a pair of the heaviest-looking socks Oats had ever seen. They looked as if they could shrug off a hammer blow.
'They was good boots,' said Granny, looking at the bubbles. 'Oh, well, let's get on.'
She staggered a little as she set off again, but to Oats's admiration managed to stay upright. He was beginning to form yet another opinion of the old woman, who caused a new opinion to arise about once every half-hour, and it was this: she needed someone to beat. If she didn't have someone to beat, she'd probably beat herself.
'Shame about your little book of holy words...' she said, when she was further down the track.
There was a long pause before Oats replied.
'I can easily get another,' he said levelly.
'Must be hard, not having your book of words.'
'It's only paper.'
'I shall ask the King to see about getting you another book of words.'
'I wouldn't trouble him.'
'Terrible thing to have to burn all them words, though.'
'The worthwhile ones don't burn.'
'You're not too stupid, for all that you wear a funny hat,' said Granny.
'I know when I'm being pushed, Mistress Weatherwax.'
'Well done.'
They walked on in silence. A shower of hail bounced off Granny's pointy hat and Oats's wide brim.
Then Granny said, 'It's no good you trying to make me believe in Om, though.'