“That’s true. You hug your love as you do your babies, all day long, and never tire. Now, you see, a man gets tired of nursing in no time;—I never was in love but once.”
“Oh, father, I’ve heard that story so often.”
“Well, then, you shan’t hear it again. Now, I’ll go out and see where Tom may be. I suppose he’s looking at the wind, and thinking how it changes like a woman. But I’ll light my pipe first.”
“Do, father; and while Tom looks at the wind and thinks of women, do you just watch the smoke out of your pipe, and think of men and their constancy.”
“Well, I will, if it pleases you. Put the letter by, Bessy, for I shouldn’t like Tom to see it. What have you got for dinner?”
“I left that to Mrs Maddox, so I can’t tell. But there’s cold pudding in the larder; I’ll put it out for Tom.”
“Nay, Bessy, you must not jest with him.”
“Am I likely, think you, father?” replied Bessy; “can’t I feel for him?”
“Come, come, dearest, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m not crying, but I’m very sorry for Tom, and that’s the truth. Now go away with your pipe, and leave me alone.”