"It is not that," returned Mrs. Pynsent, threading a needle, and taking up the proffered stocking. "If you knew the pains my lady took to hunt down Tom, you would bless yourself, Sally Hancock."
"Never mind, Pen. Didn't our mother do just the same by us? Didn't I marry Hancock, in spite of every thing people could say?—and didn't you declare you would have Bob Pynsent, though he was engaged to Patty Durham?"
"Sally Hancock, do you remember the Shrewsbury races?" cried Mrs. Pynsent, overpowered with laughing at some bygone recollections.
"When we dressed up to frighten Hancock and Pynsent? ay, don't I?" exclaimed her sister, equally amused. "Do you remember Hancock's face, when you told him his fortune?"
"And do you remember Pynsent saying—"
Mrs. Pynsent could no more. A thousand images of the past crowded before her vision, and both ladies laughed immoderately at certain remembrances conjured up by Mrs. Hancock, reverting to youthful indiscretions. Mrs. Pynsent's anger towards her son already waned, as she dwelt upon topics so consonant to her feelings, with her sister. The tête-à-tête lasted a considerable time, and the peals of laughter continued, till the completion of the stocking gave warning it was time to part. Mrs. Pynsent prepared to move with reluctance.
"Can't you stay now you are here?" said Mrs. Hancock.
"Don't ask me, Sally Hancock. I must get back to Hatton. If you and Hancock had not spent your property in eating and drinking, you would not have been shut up here with that dreadful foot, which must be your death."
Mrs. Hancock exhibited her swelled foot.—"Yes, that's a neat article, Pen. I wish I could have it sawed off by the carpenter. Can't help it."