“And I saw a gentleman muffled carefully up, with his hat slouched over his face, at the door of a cottage, with a little child in his arms, and he kissed it more fondly than, be we ever so good, we generally kiss other people’s children; and then he gave it to a peasant woman standing near him, and mounted his horse, which was tied to the gate, and trotted past me; and who do you think this was?”
“Patience me—I can’t guess!”
“Why, our saintly banker. I bowed to him, and I assure you he turned as red, ma’am, as your waistband.”
“My!”
“I just turned into the cottage when he was out of sight, for I was thirsty, and asked for a glass of water, and I saw the child. I declare I would not be uncharitable, but I thought it monstrous like—you know whom!”
“Gracious! you don’t say—”
“I asked the woman ‘if it was hers?’ and she said ‘No,’ but was very short.”
“Dear me, I must find this out! What is the name of the village?”
“Covedale.”
“Oh, I know—I know.”