“Will that not serve?” saith Father, smiling on her.
“Ay, so far as it goeth,” she made answer: “yet it is but an if, Aubrey?”
“Life is a chain of ifs, dear Joyce,” saith he.
“Truth,” saith she, and stood a moment as if meditating. “Well,” saith she at last, “‘half a loaf is better than no bread at all,’ so I reckon I must be content with what I have. But if I send thee an whole flock of sheep one day, and to Lettice the next an hundred ells of velvet, prithee be not astonied.”
Father laughed, and said nought of that sort should ever astonish him, for he knew Aunt Joyce by far too well.
Selwick Hall, March ye ix.
We were sat this morrow all in the little chamber at work, and I somewhat marvelled what was ado with Mother, for smiles kept ever and anon flitting across her face, as though she were mighty diverted with the flax she was spinning: and I guessed her thoughts should be occupying somewhat that was of mirthful sort. At last saith Aunt Joyce:—
“Lettice, what is thy mind a-laughing at? I have kept count, and thou hast smiled eleven times this half-hour. Come, give us a share, good fellow.”
Mother laughed right out then, and saith—
“Why, Joyce, I knew not I was thus observed of a spy. Howbeit, what made me smile, that shall you know. Who is here to list me?”