The child turned her frowning face upon her uncle, as if appealing to him for light. He could not but try. He found she had seen Brixton church, seen something there this very morning; whether a wedding or a funeral, it required some time to find out; and this involved a description of each. Then came the question,
“Why are people white when they are married, and black when they are buried?”
In the middle of the explanation, she turned to the picture,
“Is that little boy with his hoop going to be buried? Is that old man going to be buried?”
No: they were neither of them dead yet; but the old man would be before very long, for he was very, very old....
“Then, was he rather new once?”
Uncle could no longer keep so grave as the subject required, and besides, did not know how to convey that old and new would not do in all cases so well as old and young. He too gave up.
“Shall we ride?” asked Letitia, as lord F—— looked at his watch. “I can send Thérèse home with the children.”
“Suppose we take them ourselves. This may be the last morning for some time that I shall be able to devote to you and yours.”
“It may be the last time we shall see Maria for some weeks,” replied Letitia. “I am glad you can go.”