"None of that now," said that lady, "such airs won't go down with me. It is a pity if I can't speak to my own sister's child."
Rose thought this was the only light in which she was likely to view the relationship, but she was too wise to reply.
"There's no knowing," said Dolly, "what you may have learned among those children at the Asylum."
"You put me there, Aunt Dolly," said Rose.
"Of course I put you there, but did I tell you to learn all the bad things you saw?"
"You didn't tell me not; but I never would take what belonged to another."
"Shut up now—you are just like your mother ex—actly;" and Dolly stopped here, considering that she could go no further in the way of invective.
And now they were nearing the village. Rose thought it looked much prettier at a distance than near.
There was an ugly, dirty tavern in the main street, on whose gaudy sign-board was painted "The Rising Sun;" and on whose piazza were congregated knots of men, smoking, chewing, swearing, and bargaining, by turns; for it was cattle-fair Monday, and the whole population was astir.