“Now, don't you be uneasy about your sister Dahly.” Old Anthony, as he spoke, fixed his small brown eyes on the girl, and seemed immediately to have departed far away in speculation. A question recalled him.
“Is her health good?”
“Ay; stomach's good, head's good, lungs, brain, what not, all good. She's a bit giddy, that's all.”
“In her head?”
“Ay; and on her pins. Never you mind. You look a steady one, my dear. I shall take to you, I think.”
“But my sister—” Rhoda was saying, when the farmer came out, and sent a greeting from the threshold,—
“Brother Tony!”
“Here he is, brother William John.”
“Surely, and so he is, at last.” The farmer walked up to him with his hand out.
“And it ain't too late, I hope. Eh?”