"'Yes, all,' says she, 'if you'll only be my own William again,' and then she took his hand to lead him home. 'You'll hardly know the children,' says she.
"He put on the old slouched thing, he called a hat, when he suddenly bethought himself he'd got on Thomas's best coat, almost bran new; and with that he begun to pull it right off. But Thomas wouldn't let him. 'Reynolds,' says he, 'if you'll promise to be a good husband to her, as I know you will be, if you'll let rum alone, I'll make you welcome to it.'
"William snatched hold of his hands as if he was going to cry, and says he, 'I don't dare to promise, oh, how I wish I could!'
"'Well, well,' says Thomas, 'I'll see you again,' for he thought 'twa'n't just the time to say more. I couldn't help feelin proud o' my man, then, though I'm 'fraid 'twas kind o' wicked.'"
Kind Mrs. Jones! she was obliged to stop and find her pocket-handkerchief. The tears were streaming down her honest face, and I must confess, I wept with her. She resumed, "The next morning Anna came in and brought the coat all wrapped up in a towel, and says she, 'I thank your kind husband, Miss Jones, but William will soon be able to earn himself a coat with my help.'
"I urged her to keep it, and told her we both made her welcome to it, for I know what it is to want help and to have it too. But no, she wouldn't take it, and with that I asked her to wait a minute, and I ran up garret where Thomas had a good warm overcoat a little too small, and I'd laid it by to make Samuel one out of it. 'Here, Miss Reynolds,' says I, 'is a coat,'tain't no kind o' use to Thomas, 'cause it's too small; and I want the nail desprit bad, where it hung, so I'll be behoven to you, if you'll give it house room.'
"'Oh, Miss Jones,' says she, 'I can see through your kindness, and I shall be very grateful for the coat,' and so she took it and went home. Now Thomas and I have been putting our heads together to get some work for Reynolds, so he wont have to go to the distillery for it. And at last we concluded to ask the Doctor's advice."
Monday, March 6th, 1837.
How little I thought when I wrote last that so long a time would pass before I should write again. I should hardly prove a very good correspondent, did not Frank fill up and make amends for all my deficiencies.
The sickness of Pauline, which, I think, I mentioned in my last, and which probably reached you more than a month since, proved to be the worst kind of measles. We were very much alarmed for a time, as they did not come out; and the poor child was burning up with fever.