“Sarah, I have seen a wedding!”
“Have you?” and the old woman laughed. “Oh! I heard it was to be to-day!—young Waldron’s wedding! Yes, they have been long sweethearts.”
“Were you ever married, Sarah?”
“Lord bless you,—yes! and a very good husband I had, poor man! But he’s dead these many years; and if you had not taken me, I must have gone to the workhus.”
“He is dead! Wasn’t it very hard to live after that, Sarah?”
“The Lord strengthens the hearts of widders!” observed Sarah, sanctimoniously.
“Did you marry your brother, Sarah?” said Fanny, playing with the corner of her apron.
“My brother!” exclaimed the old woman, aghast. “La! miss, you must not talk in that way,—it’s quite wicked and heathenish! One must not marry one’s brother!”
“No!” said Fanny, tremblingly, and turning very pale, even by that light. “No!—are you sure of that?”
“It is the wickedest thing even to talk about, my dear young mistress;—but you’re like a babby unborn!”