"The pore soul gave up the ghost when Fancy was born."
"That's very bad, Alferd."
Alfred, no pessimist, answered cheerfully:
"Might have been worse, Mother."
"Eh?"
Alfred grinned.
"She might have died before Fancy was born, and then there'd be one pretty maid the less in Nether-Applewhite to-day."
"Gracious! She do seem to find favour with 'ee. 'Tis wicked to wager money on't, but I'll lay a pound o' good butter, Alferd, that you disremember Mr. Hamlin's text this marning."
"You'd win that bet, Mother. I'm bothered and moithered to death."
"About this white-faced maid, Alferd?"