“But how is it,” asked Arminell, “that you have not been married yet, after courting so long?”
“First the bursted gun spoiled the chance—but Lord, miss, though he’s lost half his hand, he is as clever with what remains as most men with two.”
“He was unable to work for his living, I suppose?”
“And next he were throwed down off a waggon, and he’s been lame ever since. But, Lord, miss! he do get along with the bad leg, beautiful, quite beautiful.”
“You are not nearer your marriage than you were twenty years ago,” said Arminell, pitifully.
“I have been that troubled for Samuel,” said Joan, not replying, but continuing her own train of thought; “I’ve feared he’d be took off to the union, and then the old man would ha’ died, not having me to walk out with of a Sunday and bring him a little ’baccy. And I—I’d ha’ nort in the world to live for, or to hoard my wages for, wi’out my old Samuel.”
The woman paused, turned round and looked at the feeble, disabled wreck of a man, who put his crippled hand to his forelock and saluted.
“How came he to fall off the waggon?” asked Arminell.
“Well, miss, it came of my being on the waggon,” explained Ceely, “I couldn’t have falled off otherwise.”
“Were you asleep? Was the waggon in motion?”