"But, Uncle Bobo, could an old, old lady like Miss Pinckney have a suitor?"
"Oh, yes, my dear, yes! She set her cap at me once. She is—well—not much short of fifty; that's a girl, you know. All are girls till they marry; old girls, we call them!"
"But my dear Goody Patience is ever so much younger, and oh! she said last night, 'I don't feel as if I was ever young, or a girl,' and then she looked so sad."
"Ah! my dear, she has had a sight of trouble, has poor Mrs. Harrison. First, her husband making off, leaving a good business—a very good business here, as a master of a lot of herring boats, with a share in one of the big curing houses where the bloaters are the best to be had in the trade. But my young man must needs be off whaling, and never came back again. Poor Patience! It's a sad story. For my part, I wish she would call herself a widow and have done with it. There's some one ready enough to make her a happy wife."
"Really, Mr. Boyd, if I was you I would not put such nonsense into the child's head," said the good old servant. She had lived behind the little dark shop for some thirty years, and now came forward into the light, blinking as an owl might blink in the bright rays of the August sun, which at this time of day at this time of year penetrates the narrow row and shines right down into it.
"Yes, I say it's nonsense to put into the child's head. Run off, my dear; run off."
"And I may ask Bet Skinner to come to tea, and dear Goody too; and you'll buy a plum-roll and cheese-cakes for a treat. Will you, Uncle Bobo?"
"Yes, my dear; I'll make a feast, see if I don't; and we'll have a good time."
"Tea on the leads, tea upstairs, Uncle Bobo."
Uncle Bobo nodded; and Joy ran off gaily with her invitation ready for poor Bertha.