Astounded and indignant at this unexpected behavior of her sister-in-law, Rachel burst into a fresh fit of weeping, and again had recourse to the handkerchief.
“I've stayed here long enough, if even my sister-in-law, as well as my own nephew, from whom I expect nothing better, makes me her laughing-stock. Brother Timothy, I can no longer remain in your dwelling to be laughed at; I will go to the poor-house, and end my life as a pauper. If I only receive Christian burial, when I leave the world, it will be all I hope or expect from my relatives, who will be glad enough to get rid of me.”
The second application of the handkerchief had so increased the effect, that Jack found it impossible to check his laughter, while the cooper, whose attention was now for the first time drawn to his sister's face, burst out in a similar manner.
This more amazed Rachel than even Mrs. Crump's merriment.
“Even you, Timothy, join in ridiculing your sister!” she exclaimed, in an 'Et tu Brute,' tone.
“We don't mean to ridicule you, Rachel,” gasped Mrs. Crump, with difficulty, “but we can't help laughing——”
“At the prospect of my death,” uttered Rachel. “Well, I'm a poor forlorn creetur, I know; I haven't got a friend in the world. Even my nearest relations make sport of me, and when I speak of dying they shout their joy to my face.”
“Yes,” gasped Jack, “that's it exactly. It isn't your death we're laughing at, but your face.”
“My face!” exclaimed the insulted spinster. “One would think I was a fright, by the way you laugh at it.”
“So you are,” said Jack, in a state of semi-strangulation.