"Young ain't the word for it," said Miller, with a praiseworthy determination not to be left behind.
"No; it's age as you're thinking of, Mr. Wiggett," said the carpenter, slowly; "none of us gets younger, do we, Ann?"
"Some of us keeps young in our ways," said Mrs. Pullen, somewhat shortly.
"How old should you say Ann is now?" persisted the watchful Tidger.
Mr. Wiggett shook his head. "I should say she's about fifteen years younger nor me," he said, slowly, "and I'm as lively as a cricket."
"She's fifty-five," said the carpenter.
"That makes you seventy, Wiggett," said Mr. Miller, pointedly. "I thought you was more than that. You look it."
Mr. Wiggett coughed sourly. "I'm fifty-nine," he growled. "Nothing 'll make me believe as Mrs. Pullen's fifty-five, nor anywhere near it."
"Ho!" said the carpenter, on his mettle—"ho! Why, my wife here was the sixth child, and she—- He caught a gleam in the sixth child's eye, and expressed her age with a cough. The others waited politely until he had finished, and Mr. Tidger, noticing this, coughed again.
"And she—" prompted Mr. Miller, displaying a polite interest.