Wilson, give me the baby, I may as well carry him,
while you talk and comfort my wife; poor thing, she takes on sadly
about Esther."
*Nesh; Anglo-Saxon, nesc, tender.
These arrangements were soon completed; the two women sat down on
the blue cotton handkerchiefs of their husbands, and the latter,
each carrying a baby, set off for a further walk; but as soon as
Barton had turned his back upon his wife, his countenance fell back
into an expression of gloom.
"Then you've heard nothing of Esther, poor lass?" asked Wilson.
"No, nor shan't, as I take it. My mind is, she's gone off with
somebody. My wife frets and thinks she's drowned herself, but I
tell her, folks don't care to put on their best clothes to drown
themselves; and Mrs. Bradshaw (where she lodged, you know) says the
last time she set eyes on her was last Tuesday, when she came
downstairs, dressed in her Sunday gown, and with a new ribbon in her
bonnet, and gloves on her hands, like the lady she was so fond of
thinking herself."
"She was as pretty a creature as ever the sun shone on.
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