"Mother," he said, abruptly, "there's news for you. Somebody's boun' to be wed."
The stocking was deposited in Mrs. Ogden's lap, and she looked at her son with fixed eyes.
"It's owther our Isaac or me, and it isn't our Isaac."
"Why, then, it's thee, Jacob."
"You're clever at guessin', old woman; you always was a 'cute un."
"What! are you boun' to wed somebody at Whittlecup?"
"She doesn't live a hundred mile off Whittlecup."
Mrs. Ogden rose from her seat and laid down her stocking, and made slowly for the door. She stopped, however, midway, and with a stately gesture pointed to the mended stocking. "Can she darn like that?"
"She 'appen can do, mother."
"Han you seen her do?"