"She came many a time to our house after she left off
living with us. Last Sunday se'nnight--no! it was this very last
Sunday, she came to drink a cup of tea with Mary; and that was the
last time we set eyes on her."
"Was she any ways different in her manner?" asked Wilson.
"Well, I don't know. I have thought several times since, that she
was a bit quieter, and more womanly-like; more gentle, and more
blushing, and not so riotous and noisy. She comes in towards four
o'clock, when afternoon church was loosing, and she goes and hangs
her bonnet up on the old nail we used to call hers, while she lived
with us. I remember thinking what a pretty lass she was, as she sat
on a low stool by Mary, who was rocking herself, and in rather a
poor way. She laughed and cried by turns, but all so softly and
gently, like a child, that I couldn't find in my heart to scold her,
especially as Mary was fretting already. One thing I do remember I
did say, and pretty sharply too. She took our little Mary by the
waist and"--
"Thou must leave off calling her 'little' Mary, she's growing up
into as fine a lass as one can see on a summer's day; more of her
mother's stock than thine," interrupted Wilson.
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