“Why, what else is there?” saith Milly. “We have dwelt hither ever since we were born, saving when we go to visit Aunt Joyce, and one day is the very cut of an other. Saving when Master Stuyvesant came hither, nought never happened in this house since I was born.”
“Would’st love better a life wherein matters should happen, Milly?” saith Aunt Joyce, looking up at her, with a manner of face that I knew. It was a little mirthful, yet sorrowful withal.
“Ay, I would so!” quoth she.
“Child,” Aunt Joyce makes answer, “‘happy is the man that hath no history.’”
“But things do happen, Milly,” saith Edith. “Thou hast forgot Anstace her wedding.”
“That something happening!” pouts Milly. “Stupid humdrum business! Do but think, to wed a man that dwelleth the next door, which thou hast known all thy life! Why, I would as lief not be wed at all, very nigh.”
“It seemed to suit Anstace,” puts in Edith.
“Aught should do that.”
“Ay,” saith Aunt Joyce, something drily, “‘godliness is great riches, if a man be content with that he hath.’” (Note 1.)
“Easy enough, trow, when you have plenty,” quoth Milly.