"Why?" said I.
"O, he's married too. So don't you get cheated into thinking you have mated a robin. He will turn out a crow, like as any way. I suppose they both did have good voices, and, for all that I know, they have still. They were the singing-master's especial wonders and his pattern pieces. He never was tired of praising them up to the skies, to mortify the rest of us into good behavior. She was the wonder for the girls' side and he for the boys',—two copies that we were to sing up to. I think they were a little proud of the distinction. They were kind of brought together by it, so that they did not see any harm at all in singing out of the same note-book."
"I suppose not," said Jerusha.
"Well, there was one girl in the school,—I dare say she was a giggling, mischief-making thing, for everybody said so—"
"Is she living now?" I asked.
"Yes, indeed."
"Does she sing now?" asked Jerusha.
"Well,—not much."
"Then," said I, "she must be married, too."