At this juncture the old woman in the corner started once more from her dreams, and cried out.
"On the left-hand side, as you go down. There was thirteen children of 'em—all boys but two. The youngest was a gal, born the same day we sold our old brindle cow."
Mr. Royden and the clergyman both started, and looked at the speaker.
"Don't mind her,—don't mind the poor creatur'!" said Job, softly. "Her talk is all out of date; it's all about bygones. A kind old lady, but childish again, and very deaf."
Father Brighthopes returned to the subject they were conversing upon.
"My wife has seen a mighty deal of bad weather," said Job, very softly. "Oh, she has got through it amazin' well, for a feeble woman. She astonishes me every day o' my life. But, then, you see, she's a good deal broken, late years."
"I am sorry for her,—sorry for her!" exclaimed the clergyman, warmly. "But there's a good time coming for all of us old people,"—looking up, with a peaceful smile.
"So I tell her," replied Job. "But she han't got the animal sperrits she once had. And that an't to be wondered at. Oh, she's a good soul! and if she'd pluck up heart a little,—gracious!" exclaimed the shoemaker, doubling his fists, and compressing his lips with hopeful firmness, "I think I wouldn't like any better fun than to fight the world ten or a dozen years longer!"
"My bold Christian hero!"
"Thank you, sir! To be that is glory enough for me; though I didn't think exactly so when I stood strong and proud on two legs. I believed then I was destined to do wonders with bayonets and gun-powder."