The apron went up to the eyes again; and thou came the explanation, poured forth with many sobs—
"'Tis like this 'm—it has struck me so sudden and so cruel that I'm fairly dazed to think on 't. Me and Ellen were life friends. I was bringin' on her fine to like the heathen, and she giv' me twopence halfpenny last week for my stockin'. We was goin to grow up side by side as it were, and I telled her everythink! And when you and Miss Helen were dead 'm, we was goin' up to London to get ready for bein' missionaries. That's what we arranged 'm.
"I never forgot Ellen in my prayers 'm—not once—and when I says 'Our Father,' I thinks of Ellen and me right through. You see 'm, the two of us made it seem right. I never could understand who the 'our' were. And my heart and Ellen's were just made for one another. I often says to her,—
"'Ellen,' I says, 'you listens and I talks; isn't that just right?' I says.
"And she always said yes to everythink I said—leastways, after I had learned her to, she did. And I was a-think-in' 'm that p'raps one day you might let me go into the town by the carrier, and then I was goin' to get Ellen a cap—a nice cap 'm—for present. I've always told her she'd look 'andsome in a cap.
"Well 'm, to-day I went to the village and posted your letters, and I was a-comin' across the fields, for 'tis shorter, and there were no bulls in 'em, when I see'd Ellen sittin' on a stile, and a young man beside her.
"I went up to her 'm, just as I always does, but the young man says in my very face 'm, 'Who be this guy, Ellen?'
"And she laughed, though her cheeks were red, and she says, "'Tis Peggy Perkins, servant down to Ivy Cottage.'
"'Tis Ellen's friend,' I said, lookin' at 'em straight. 'And, Ellen, I wants to have a word with you.'
"Ellen tossed up her head 'm, and says, 'I'm busy to-day. Can't you see it?' she says.