Ah brother, brother—you have not forgotten the dear child, I see.
Which dear child?
Which dear child!—why—oh—ah—I thought you meant little Abby—the very image of my departed wife.
Is Bridget Pope with you now?
—She often speaks of you, the dear little babe ... she wears the keep-sake you gave her, and won’t let any body sit in your place, and if we desire to punish her, we have only to say that uncle George won’t love her....
The dear child! I saw her with Bridget on the day of the trial, but I had no time to speak to either. I hope they are both well—Bridget has grown prodigiously, I hear—
And so has Abby—
Indeed!
Indeed—why—is it so very wonderful that Abby should grow?
To be sure—certainly not—she was very fair when I saw her last—when I left this part of the world, I mean.