"Bless your heart, sir! nothing ever inconveniences she. There bean't a pleasanter young body alive. She'll often come into this kitchen—just as you did, gentlemen, and very happy to see you always," added Mrs. Tod, curtseying. "When Mr. March is asleep she'll come and sit for half an hour, talking to Tod and me; and playing with the baby—"
Here, probably at sound of its name, the individual alluded to set up, from its cradle in the corner, such a terrific squall, that we young men beat a precipitate retreat.
"So, John, your grey gown is discovered at last. She's young, certainly—but not exactly a beauty."
"I never said she was."
"A pleasant person, though; hearty, cheerful-looking, and strong. I can easily imagine her trotting over the common with her basket of eggs—chatting to the old woman, and scolding the naughty boy."
"Don't make fun of her. She must have a hard life with her old father."
Of course, seeing him take it up so seriously, I jested no more.
"By-the-by, did not the father's name strike you? MARCH—suppose it should turn out to be the very Mr. March you pulled out of Severn five years ago. What a romantic conjuncture of circumstances?"
"Nonsense," said John, quickly—more quickly than he usually spoke to me; then came back to wish me a kind goodbye. "Take care of yourself, old fellow. It will be nightfall before I am back from Norton Bury."
I watched him mount, and ride slowly down the bit of common—turning once to look back at Rose Cottage, ere he finally disappeared between the chestnut trees: a goodly sight—for he was an admirable horseman.