"What's become of 'em?"
"Pawnbroker's," tersely replied Sally.
"Ah! and you've no idea who or where the pretty little creature's mother is?"
"She never had a mother."
"That's not according to nature, Sally. A mother she must have had."
"No; she had a ma, not a mother. I knew she wasn't like us the first moment I ever see her. That was the night brother Ned come home, and me and baby went to bed together. Then I dreamed that dream of you and the angels. Wasn't it a beautiful dream?"
"It was a rare fine dream, Sally, a rare fine dream! Angels! and Seth Dumbrick a-working for 'em! that's the finest part of it. Seth Dumbrick sitting in the sky, with angels begging of him to mend their shoes! And I'll do it too--when I get there. I'll set up as a cobbler in the clouds, and make my fortune. Ha, ha, ha! Sally, go on dreaming like that, and something'll come of it."
"What'll come of it?" asked literal Sally.
Seth Dumbrick rubbed his chin with his horny hand. The bristles were so strong, and his hand was so hard, that the action produced a rasping sound, such as the rubbing of sand-paper produces.
"There was a woman once, Now her name was Southcott--Joanna Southcott it was. Now she was a poor woman, too, as you'll be."