Once More With Footnotes

winters. Percy Hopcroft was the premier grower and definitely a keen man when it came to sexual antics among the horticulture with a camel-hair brush.
     
                  "He sells his apple trees all over the p lace," Nanny Ogg went on. "Funny, eh, to think that pretty soon thousands of people will be having a bite of Nanny Ogg."
     
                  "Thousands more," said Granny, tartly. Nanny's wild youth was an open book, although only available in plain covers.
     
                  "Thank you, Es me." Nanny Ogg looked wistful for a moment, and then opened her mouth in mock concern. "Oh, you ain't jealous, are you, Esme? You ain't begrudging me my little moment in the sun?"
     
                  "Me? Jealous? Why should I be jealous? It's only an apple. It's not as if it's anything important."
     
                  "That's what I thought. It's just a little frippery to humour an old lady," said Nanny. "So how are things with you, then?"
     
                  "Fine. Fine."
     
                  "Got your winter wood in, have you? "
     
                  " Mostly."
     
                  "Good," said Nanny. "Good."
     
                  They sa t in silence. On the windowpane a butterfly, awoken by the unseasonable warmth, beat a little tattoo in an effort to reach the September sun.
     
                  "Your potatoes ... got them dug, then?" said Nanny. "Yes."
     
                  "We got a good crop off ours this year. "
     
                  " Good."
     
                  "Salted your beans, have you? "
     
                  " Yes."
     
                  "I expect you're looking forward to the Trials next week? "
     
                  " Yes."
     
                  "I expect you've been practising? "
     
                  " No."
     
                  It seemed to Nanny that, despite the sunlight, the shadows were deepening in the corners of the room. The very air itself was growing dark. A witch's cottage gets sensitive to the moods of its occupant. But she plunged on. Fools rush in, but they are laggards compared to little old ladies with nothing left to fear.
     
                  "You coming over to dinner on Sunday?"
     
                  " What're you havin'?"
     
                  "Pork."
     
                  "With apple sauce? "
     
                  " Yes — "
     
                  "No," said Granny.
     
                  There was a creaking behind Nanny. The door had swung open. Someone who wasn't a witch would have rationalised this, would have said that, of course, it was only the wind. A nd Nanny Ogg was quite prepared to go along with this, but would have added: Why was it only the wind, and how come the wind had managed to lift the latch?
     
                  "Oh, well, can't sit here chatting all day," she said, standing up quickly. "Always busy at this t ime of year, ain't it?"
     
                  "Yes."
     
                  "So I'll be off, then. "
     
                  " Goodbye."
     
                  The wind blew the door shut again as Nanny hurried off down the path. It occurred to her that, just possibly, she may have gone a bit too far. But only a bit.
     
                  The trouble with being a witch — at least, the trouble with being a witch as far as some people were concerned — was that you got stuck out here in the country. But that was fine by Nanny. Everything she wanted was out here. Everything she'd ever wanted was here, although in her you th she'd run out of men a few times. Foreign parts were all right to visit but they weren't really serious. They had interestin' new drinks and the grub was fun, but foreign parts was where you went to do what might need to be done and then you came back h ere, a place that was real. Nanny Ogg was happy in small places.
     
                  Of course, she reflected as she crossed the lawn, she didn't have this view out of her window. Nanny lived down in the town, but Granny could look out across the forest and over the plains and all the way to the great round horizon of the Discworld.
     
                  A view like that, Nanny reasoned, could probably suck your mind right out