"I'm sure you did what you thought right," said Margaret gently.
"Ay, lass, that's it," said Alice, raising her head and speaking
more cheerfully. "That's the thing, and then let the Lord send what
He sees fit; not but that I grieved sore, oh, sore and sad, when
towards spring next year, when my quilt were all done to th' lining,
George came in one evening to tell me mother was dead. I cried many
a night at after;* I'd no time for crying by day, for that missis
was terrible strict; she would not hearken to my going to th'
funeral; and indeed I would have been too late, for George set off
that very night by th' coach, and the letter had been kept or summut
(posts were not like th' posts now-a-days), and he found the burial
all over, and father talking o' flitting; for he couldn't abide the
cottage after mother was gone."
*"Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, AT AFTER supper."
--SHAKSPEARE, Richard III.
"Was it a pretty place?" asked Mary.
"Pretty, lass! I never seed such a bonny bit anywhere. You see
there are hills there as seem to go up into th' skies, not near
maybe, but that makes them all the bonnier.
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