“But where's the use o' that, when they're not here? My own opinion is, that she's either sick, or if God hasn't said it, maybe dead. How can we tell if ever she has seen or found the man you sent her for? Sure, if she didn't, all's lost.”
“Throth, I allow,” replied the pedlar, “that things is in a distressin' state with us; however, while there's life there's hope, as the Doctor says. There must be something extraordinary wrong to keep them away so long, I grant—or herself, at any rate; still, I say again, trust in God. You have secured Duncan, you say; but can you depend on the ruffian?”
“If it was on his honesty, I could not, one second, but I do upon his villainy and love of money. I have promised him enough, and it all depends on whether he'll believe me or not.”
“Well, well,” observed the other, “I wish things had a brighter look up. If we fail, I won't know what to say. We must only thry an' do the best we can, ourselves.”
“Have you seen the agint since you gave him the petition?” asked Hanlon.
“I did, but he had no discoorse with the Hendherson's; and he bid me call on him again.”
“I dunna what does he intend to do?”
“Hut, nothing. What 'id he do? I'll go bail, he'll never trouble his head about it more; at any rate I tould him a thing.”
“Very likely he won't,” replied Hanlon; “but what I'm thinkin' of now, is the poor Daltons. May God in his mercy pity an' support them this night!”
The pedlar clasped his hands tightly as he looked up, and said “Amen!”