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.

"Well, well, I call her 'little' because her mother's name is Mary.
But, as I was saying, she takes Mary in a coaxing sort of way, and
'Mary,' says she, 'what should you think if I sent for you some day
and made a lady of you?' So I could not stand such talk as that to
my girl, and I said, 'Thou'd best not put that nonsense i' the
girl's head I can tell thee; I'd rather see her earning her bread by
the sweat of brow, as the Bible tells her she should do, ay, though
she never got butter to her bread, than be like a do-nothing lady,
worrying shopmen all morning, and screeching at her pianny all
afternoon, and going to bed without having done a good turn to any
one of God's creatures but herself.'"

"Thou never could abide the gentlefolk," said Wilson, half amused at
his friend's vehemence.

"And what good have they ever done me that I should like them?"
asked Barton, the latent fire lighting up his eye: and bursting
forth he continued, "If I am sick do they come and nurse me? If my