Accordingly, next morning Betsy Bradly appeared at the mill with the ring on her little finger—a circumstance which soon drew attention, which was expressed first in looks and then in whispers, much to the quiet amusement and satisfaction of the wearer. No questions, however, were asked till the dinner hour, and then a small knot of the hands, principally of the females, gathered round her. These were some of her personal friends and acquaintances; for her character stood too high in the place for any of the less respectable sort to venture to intrude themselves upon her.
“Well, Betsy,” cried one, “you’ve got a pretty keepsake there; let’s have a look at it.”
The other’s only reply was to take off the ring and offer it for inspection. As it was passed from hand to hand, various exclamations were uttered: “Eh, it’s a bonny stone!”—“I never seed the like in all my born days!”—“It’s fit for the Queen’s crown!”—“Where did you get it, Betsy?”—“Her young man gave it her, of course!”—“Nay, you’re wrong there,” said another; “he’s got more sense than to spend his brass on such things as that,—he’s saving it up for a new clock and a dresser!”—“Come, Betsy, where did you get it?”
“You’ll never guess, so it’s no use axing,” said Betsy, laughing. “It ain’t mine; but it’ll be mine till its proper owner comes and claims it.”
“Oh, you picked it up as you was coming to the mill!”
“Ah yes!” cried another; “like enough it’s been dropped by the vicar’s lady, or by some one as has been staying at the vicarage!”
“You’re wrong there,” replied Betsy; “I didn’t find it, and nobody’s lost it exactly.”
“Well, I never!” cried several, and then there was a general move towards their different homes.
Betsy continued wearing the ring for the next day or two, and always dexterously parried any attempt to find out how she came by it. Odd stories began to fly about on the subject, and work-people from other mills came to have a look at the ring, Betsy being always ready to gratify any respectable person with a sight of it. But still she persisted in refusing to tell how it had come into her possession. At last, one afternoon, just as the mills were loosing, one of the railway clerks came up to her, and said,—
“Are you looking out for an owner to that ring you’re wearing? I’ve been told something of the sort.”