Her shrill laughter now filled the room, and swayed her gnarled form as she rocked to and fro, her pipe involuntarily falling from her mouth in her merriment “Tell me about ‘em.”
“One was a married woman,” said David Joslin, speaking freely before his grandmother as he could not have done before his wife. “I didn’t know how fine and steady and sweet a woman could be till I saw her. I never heard her say a word above her voice. She was fine, always. I reckon she gave me my start—she showed what there was to hope and work for in the world. And she was beautiful, too—in a way I can’t well describe. She was so quiet, so still, folks never would think she was much, maybe not even beautiful. She’s one worth more than the world’s estimate. There are such—the finest of all in all the world, in all its days. She’s married.”
“Go on, Davy,” chuckled the old dame. “Tell the rest—tell about the other furrin womern. Ye said thar was two on ‘em. That’s some sperrit, boy! I declar, I’m a-thinkin’ more of ye now than I done hafe a hour ago! While ye’re confessin’, come on through an’ tell me the hull story. Was this-un old or young—was she married or single?”
“Single,” said David Joslin, still staring into the fire; “and young.”
“What manner of gal was she? Was she purty?”
“I didn’t think any woman ever could be so beautiful, in one way,” said Joslin soberly and truthfully. He raised his eyes now and looked fair into the face of his granddam.
The old woman shrilled with laughter as she saw the pallor of his cheek—the laughter of the old at the ways of life gone by. “Go on, Davy!” said she. “What sort of lookin’ gal was she? Tell me now—was she big or little—dark or fair?”
“She would just about go under my arm if I stood up,” said David Joslin slowly. “She was dark—her hair and eyes both dark. She told me she was French and Irish—she came from Boston, so she said.”
“French and Irish—oh, my God!” exclaimed the old dame. “Same as myself! Law sakes, Meliss’,” she shrilled through the half-open door beyond— “could you a-blame him? Didn’t I know his daddy, an’ don’t I know him? Don’t I know ary man, come to that——
“Well, Davy,” she added at last, “when air ye a-goin’ to leave us and go on back Outside? I reckon that’s the one ye’re a-goin’ back to, huh?”