“Me marry him!” cried the maid, indignantly. “I think I see myself marryin' a man like yon, and his eyes not neighbors.”
“That's a trifle in a husband if his heart is good; the letter-carrier's eyes may—may skew a little, but it's not to be wondered at, considering the lookout he has to keep on all sides of him to keep out of reach of every trollop in the town who wants to marry him.”
And leaving Kate speechless at this accusation, the mistress of the house took the letters from her hands and went to the breakfast-table with them.
She had read the contents of the post-card before she reached the parlor; its news dismayed her.
“Just imagine!” she cried. “Here's that bairn on his way from Liverpool his lee-lone, and not a body with him!''
“What! what!” cried Mr. Dyce, whose eyes had been shut to say the grace. “Isn't that actor-fellow, Molyneux, coming with him, as he promised?”
Miss Dyce sunk in a chair and burst into tears, crushing the post-card in her hand.
“What does he say?” demanded her brother.
“He says—he says—oh, dear me!—he says, 'Pip, pip!'” quoth the weeping sister.