'Look 'ere,' says 'e, speaking in a whisper, 'I've 'eard summat up at the Rose and Crown: Bank's broke, and all our money's gone. I see it in the paper, so it must be true.'
'You don't mean it, Tom,' says I; 'it can't be true.'
''Tis true, though, by God,' says 'e, ''ere, don't take on so, old girl,' for I'd begun to cry. 'More's been lost on market-days, as they say: our little girl's well provided for, for old Jarvis, 'e's a warm man.'
'She won't 'ave a day's peace all 'er life,' says I, 'goin' empty-'anded into that 'ouse. I know old Mother Jarvis—a cat: we'd best tell the child, p'raps she won't marry 'im if she knows she's nothing to take to 'im,' and, God forgive me, my 'eart jumped up at the thought.
'No, best leave it be,' says my old man, 'they're fair sweet on each other.'
And so the next morning we all went up to the church, me cryin' all the way as if it was 'er buryin' we was a-goin' to and not 'er marryin'. The parson was at the church and a lot of folks as knew us, us 'avin' bin in those parts so long; but none of the bridegroom's people was there, nor yet the bridegroom.
And we waited and we waited, my Pretty as pale as a snowdrop in her white bonnet. And when it was a hour past the time, Tom, 'e ups and says out loud in the church, for all the parson and me said ''Ush!' 'I'm goin' back 'ome,' says 'e; 'there won't be no weddin' to-day; 'e shan't 'ave 'er now,' says my old man, 'not if 'e comes to fetch 'er in a coach and six cram full of bank-notes,' says 'e.
And with that 'e catches 'old of Mary in one and and me in the other, and turns to go out of church, and at the door, who should we meet but old Mother Jarvis, 'er that I'd called a cat in my wicked spite only the day before. The tears was runnin' down her fat cheeks, and as soon as she saw my Pretty, she caught 'er in 'er arms and 'ugged 'er like as if she'd been 'er own. 'God forgive 'im,' says she, 'I never could, for all he's my own son. He's gone off for a soldier, and 'e left a letter sayin' you wasn't to think any more of 'im, for 'e wasn't a marryin' man.'
'It's that dam money,' says my goodman, forgettin' 'e was in church; 'that was all 'e wanted, but it ain't what he'll get,' says 'e. 'You keep 'im out of my way, for it 'ull be the worse for 'im if 'e comes within the reach of my fisties.'
And with that we went along 'ome, the three of us. And the sun kept a-shinin' just as if there was nothin' wrong, and the skylarks a-singin' up in the blue sky till I would a-liked to wring their necks for them.