“Why, Mr Tremayne,” replied she, “’tis but that I would not be wed in May for all the gold in Cornwall.”
“But how if your servant (suitor) were a sailor, Mrs Jennifer, and should set forth the last day of May?” queried Avery.
“Then,” she said, “I would either be wed in April, or he should wait till he came back. But ’tis true, Mrs Avery, a May babe never liveth, no more than a May chick thriveth; nor is a May kit ever a mouser. ’Tis the unluckiest month in all the year. I never brake in all my life a steel glass (looking-glass) saving once, and that was in May; and sure enough, afore the same day next May died one on that farm.”
“One of the household?” asked Avery.
“Well, nay,” answered Jennifer, “’twas but the old black cow, that had been sick a month or more.”
“Ah!” was the grave answer; “her dying was a marvel!”
“But there was a death, Mr Avery!” urged Jennifer.
“An’ there had not been,” said he, “I count you should have drowned the cat, to make one. But, Mrs Jennifer, in sober sadness, think you that God keepeth record of the breaking of steel glasses and the ticking of death-watches?”
“Eh, those death-watches!” cried she; “I were out of my wit if I heard one.”
“Then I trust you shall not hear one,” answered he, “for I desire that you should keep in your wit.”