“Always was, ladies,” said I, “and am still as soft as dough. Father was very kind to her, but he was old and impatient, and a little hard of hearing, and he couldn’t half the time understand her. One day she came in with a message from neighbour Dearborne, and sais she,
“‘Father—’
“‘Colonel, if you please, dear,’ said mother, ‘he is not your father;’ and the old lady seemed as if she didn’t half fancy any body calling him that but her own children. Whether that is natural or not, Miss Jessie,” said I, “I don’t know, for how can I tell what women thinks?”
“Oh, of course not,” said Janet, “you are not waywise, and so artless; you don’t know, of course!”
“Exactly,” sais I; “but I thought mother spoke kinder cross to her, and it confused the gall.
“Says Flora, ‘Colonel Slick, Mr Dearborne says—says—’ Well, she couldn’t get the rest out; she couldn’t find the English. ‘Mr Dearborne says—’
“‘Well, what the devil does he say?’ said father, stampin’ his foot, out of all patience with her.
“It frightened Flora, and off she went out of the room crying like anything.
“‘That girl talks worse and worse,’ said mother.
“‘Well, I won’t say that,’ says father, a little mollified, ‘for she can’t talk at all, so there is no worse about it. I am sorry though I scared her. I wish somebody would teach her English.’