And Dan’s apron took another journey round his face.
“Uncle Dan, would you like to take Bertha back?” was Avice’s self-sacrificing suggestion.
“Don’t name it!” cried Dan, dropping the apron. “Don’t name it! There wouldn’t be an inch on her left by morning light! I wonder there’s any o’ me. Eh, but this world is a queer un. Is she a good lass, Avice?”
“Yes, indeed she is,” said Avice.
“I’m fain to hear it; and I’m fain thou’s fallen on thy feet, my little un. And, Avice—if thou knows of any young man as wants to go soldiering, and loves a fray, just thee send him o’er to th’ smithy, and he shall ha’ the pick o’ th’ dragons. I hope he’ll choose Ankaret. He’ll get my blessing!”
Aunt Filomena seemed to have washed her hands of her youngest daughter. She never came near them; and Avice thought it the better part of valour to keep away from the smithy. When Emma had a holiday, which was a rare treat, she often spent it with her sister; and on still rarer occasions Eleanor paid a short visit. But the only frequent visitor was old Uncle Dan, and he came whenever he could, and always seemed sorry to go home.