“She nice little girl;––come up, maybe, to your shoulder?” queried Sol.
“No, Sol!––she’s six feet high if she is an inch.”
“She got fair hair and blue eyes; nice white teeth?”
“No, laddie!––she has carroty red hair; and her eyes, I mean her eye––for she has only one––is a bleary, grey colour.”
Sol commenced to perspire afresh, and to hop from one foot on to the other.
“Aw, you foolin’ me, Jim!”
“Devil a fool! It is too serious for that. She’s big; she’s got one eye; she’s lost her teeth in front and she is evidently a widow or she has three kids with her, two at her skirts and one in her arms.”
“Good Christopher Columbus!” exclaimed Sol, pulling at his hair.
“And, and, Sol,––she is coming here for you, in five minutes.”
The big blacksmith was in desperation.