"What I'm telling you is the rale truth," rejoined Chancey: "I declare to G—d upon my soul and conscience, and I wouldn't swear that in a lie, if you like to take the place you can get it."
"Well, well, after that—why, my fortune's made," cried the girl, in ecstasies.
"It is so, indeed, my little girl," rejoined Chancey; "your fortune's made, sure enough."
"An' my dream's out, too; for I was dreaming of nothing but washing, and that's a sure sign of a change, all the live-long night," cried she, "washing linen, and such lots of it, all heaped up; well, I'm a sharp dreamer—ain't I, though?"
"You will take it, then?" inquired Chancey.
"Will I—maybe I won't," rejoined she.
"Well, come out to-morrow," said Chancey.
"I can't to-morrow," replied she; "for all the table-cloth is to be done, an' I would not like to disappoint the master after being with him so long."
"Well, can you next day?"
"I can," replied she; "tell me where it is."