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Updated: May 28, 2025
This meant that Uncle Mo's visits upstairs had always been late in the day, and that her greeting to him would have impressed him with her sanity, had it ever been called in question. "On'y fancy!" said Aunt M'riar indignantly. "To say Mrs. Prichard's deluded, and her living upstairs with Mrs. Burr this three years past, and Skillicks for more than that, afore ever she come here!"
Bartlett, at No. 7, Sapps Court, when having laid bare the ends of the top-floor joists in Mrs. Prichard's front attic it turned out just like he said it would six-inch jystes with no hold to 'em, and onto that all perished at the ends! Why ever they couldn't go to a new floor when they done the new roof Mr. Bartlett could not conceive.
Picture's in the dream, saying: "Well, my little gentleman, you do sleep sound!" But it wasn't Mrs. Prichard's, or Picture's, voice; it was Granny Marrable's. For all her eighty years, she had walked from Costrell's farm, her great-grandson's birthplace, three miles off, or thereabouts; and had arrived at her own door, ten minutes since, quite fresh after an hour's walk.
Prichard's was to herself and her hearer, much like revival of the past history of someone else. It was far too long ago now if it had ever been real; for sometimes indeed it seemed all a dream to lacerate her heart in recollecting it. The memories that could do that belonged to a later time; some very much later the worst of them.
Prichard's proposition, that language is more persistent than physical characters, is one which has never been proved, and indeed admits of no proof, seeing that the records of language do not extend so far as those of physical characters.
A vague impression haunts us that they fray out if not done careful. But this is probably valueless. No doubt Dolly's visits upstairs in connection with this box were answerable for Aunt M'riar's having come to know a good deal about old Mrs. Prichard's or, according to Dave and Dolly, Picture's antecedents.
"I have found, and so has your daughter, that she goes back and back in these dreams of her own childhood, which no doubt are made up of ... which no doubt may have been told her by ..." He stopped intentionally. He wanted to stagger her immobility by making her recite the nonsense about Mrs. Prichard's informants. She was quite amenable. "By little Davy," said she contentedly.
Prichard's boys were born there, the only chance of the old woman not having been the mother of a convict's children lay in her having been possibly the wife of a gaoler, at the best. And yet she was such a nice, pretty old thing! Was it conceivable? Then in subsequent similar interviews Aunt M'riar, inquisitive-like, tried to get further information.
There was something in Aunt M'riar's manner that made Uncle Mo say: "Anything disagreed, M'riar?" Because, observe, his interest in this mysterious man in the Park turned entirely on Mrs. Prichard's relations with him, and he had never imputed any knowledge of him to Aunt M'riar. Why should he? Indeed, why should we, except from the putting of two and two together?
That is to say, she kept her tongue silent on every point that she could reasonably suppose to call for secrecy, whether from his point of view or this old Mrs. Prichard's. She felt at liberty to repeat what she remembered of his shocking ravings about his prison life, and to dwell on the fact that he appeared to have mistaken her for his mother.
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