“It’s no more nor yo’r mother an’ me does every day of our lives. But to be sure I’m not a lady. But, perhaps, yo’d like to make Faith a present or allow her a pension. I’m glad to see things are mending wi’ yo’, Ben. Aw allus thowt yo’ had nought but what yo’ addled, an’ that’s like to be little enough for many a month to come. But, perhaps, tha’s come in for a fortin’, an’ been keepin’ it secret for fear o’ killin’ us wi’ joy. Tell us on it, Ben. Aw’ll try to bear it, if it isn’t too dazzling.”
“Do quit thi teasing, Mary, an’ talk some sense. It’s no jesting matter for poor Faith.”
“And that’s true enough, cousin, and I’m a wicked girl to run on so. But yo’ aggravate me so wi’ thi wild schemes an’ foolish talk.”
“How foolish!”
“Why, how can ta help Faith? It were reight enough for poor John to speak to yo’. I expect his heart wer’ full, an’ it eased him to speak to thee. But now what can yo’ do? Tha has nowt, an’ half nought’s nought all th’ world over.”
“I could be a brother to her, Mary.”
“Oh! a brother! I should ha’ thowt yo’d had enough o’ brotherhoods to sicken thi for life. Aw’ve no patience wi’ thee. There’s Faith living at Low Moor wi’ her father, an’ needed there, aw’ve little doubt, an’ wi’ her hands full enough, an’ now yo’ mun strike up a brotherhood wi’ her. Aw suppose we’st ha’ yo’, as soon as yo’r up, settin’ off every week end to Low Moor to play the brother. Yo’ll ha’ to take yo’r sister out for long walks aw suppose, an’ to buy her rings an’ keepsakes an’ all that. Yo’ll find it cheaper to buy her a plain ’un to begin wi’.”
“Well, and why not?” I said, getting nettled, for Mary had told me some home truths that had been none too pleasant in the hearing and digestion.
“And why not?” I repeated. “Faith’s a sweet lass, and a good one an’ true. She’s over pale an’ thin mebbe, for everyone’s fancy.”
“Oh! beauty’s in the eye of the beholder,” put in Mary, tossing her head.