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Updated: May 31, 2025
He wanted the tip to exhaust the subject of Death, and to leave him only the task of authentication. He did not hear what his mother said in a quick undertone to Aunt M'riar, within, manifestly ironing. But he heard its effect on her hearer a cry of pain, kept under, and an appeal to Uncle Mo, in some dark recess beyond. "Oh, Mo! only hark at that! Our old lady gone!"
Uncle Moses took his pipe out of his mouth to say, almost oratorically: "Don't you re-member, Jerry, me telling you Sunday six weeks it was about a loafing wagabond who came into this Court to hunt up a widder named Daverill or Daffodil, or some such a name?" Uncle Moses paused a moment. A plate had fallen in the kitchen. Nothing was broke, Aunt M'riar testified, and closed the door.
Uncle Mo kept looking at his watch, and saying that if this here lady meant to turn up, she had better look alive. Being reproved for impatience by Aunt M'riar, he said very good, then he'd stop on to the hour. Only it was no use runnin' through the day like this, and nothing coming of it, as you might say. This was only the way he preferred of expressing impatience for the visit.
So, also, was M'riar, who stood gaping at the spectacle of her Miss Anna's grief with wide, fear-stricken eyes. "Cawn't Hi do nothink for 'er, sir?" she said, approaching timidly. For the first time in his life he spoke almost harshly to the child, in his excitement. "No," he said emphatically. "You will only stand and say 'My heye! Hi sye! Hi sye! My heye! You can do nothing.
Marks of poverty, indeed, were everywhere; but upon the little table with its oil-cloth cover, soon began to show, as he brought package after package from his pockets, an array of goodies which amazed M'riar greatly. Out of a package, with the utmost care, he produced a frosted cake. "See, M'riar!" he cried.
He went upstairs to some place of concealment. "What was you and young Carrots so busy about below here?" said Uncle Mo next day, coming down the stairs to breakfast in the kitchen an hour later than Aunt M'riar. "Telling me of his Aunt Betsy yesterday. Mind your shirt-sleeve. It's going in the butter."
Only his uncle stopped in, to keep the place. His room was all safe. It was like the front of two rooms, all down in the street as if it was an earthquake. And no forewarning, above a crack or two! But the children safe, God be thanked, and her young ladyship! Also her cousin, Miss Grahame, down below with Aunt M'riar." "That lady we call Sister Nora?" "That lady.
No more you can't, and I ain't going to tell you. So just you say that!" "I'm your man, missis. On'y I shan't see him, like as not. He don't stop in one place. The orficers are after him the police." Then Aunt M'riar showed her weak and womanish character.
"Don't you tell me nothing, Mo, more than I know already. That's plenty." Uncle Mo nodded, pointed to tightly closed lips to express assent, and she resumed speech with hearing. "Capital offence means ... means?..." "Means he would go to the scragging-post, arter breakfast one morning. There's no steering out o' that fix, M'riar. He's just got to, one day, and there's an end of it!"
She deferred to the popular prejudice, which may have had an inflated opinion of the advantages of education; but she acknowledged its growth and the worldly wisdom of giving way to it. Old Mrs. Prichard and Aunt M'riar naturally exchanged confidences more and more; and in the end the old lady began to speak without reserve about her past. It came about thus.
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