and Zoeth, one of us a bach all his life, and t'other one a--a widower
for twenty years, for us to take a child to bring up! My soul and body!
Havin' hung on to the heft of our senses so far, course we decline! We
can't do nothin' else."

"And you, Mr. Hamilton?"

Zoeth appeared to hesitate. Then he asked:

"What sort of a girl is she?"

"Mary-'Gusta? She's a bright child, and a well-behaved one, generally
speaking. Rather old for her years, and a little--well, peculiar. That
isn't strange, considering the life she has led since her mother's
death. But she is a good girl and a pretty little thing. I like her; so
does my wife."

"That was her at the cemetery, wasn't it? She was with that Hobbs
woman?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. Shadrach and I met her when we was over here two years
ago. I thought the one at the graveyard was her. Poor little critter!
Where is she now; at the house--at Marcellus's?"

"Yes; that is, I suppose she is."

"Do you--do you cal'late we could see her if we went there now?"