I'll
send in a little something or other, before the after-
noon. A cold leg of mutton, or some comfortable
trifle of that sort. You'll expect me?'
'Yes,' she answered.
She had drooped her head, and turned away; and
so stood, with her hands crossed, musing.
'I don't think you will,' muttered Tackleton, look-
ing at her; 'for you seem to have forgotten all about
it already. Caleb!'
'I may venture to say I'm here, I suppose,' thought
Caleb. 'Sir!'
'Take care she don't forget what I've been saying
to her.'
'She never forgets,' returned Caleb. 'It's one of
the few things she an't clever in.'
'Every man thinks his own geese swans,' observed
the Toy-merchant, with a shrug. 'Poor devil!'
Having delivered himself of which remark, with in-
finite contempt, old Gruff and Tackleton withdrew.
Bertha remained where he had left her, lost in med-
itation. The gaiety had vanished from her downcast
face, and it was very sad. Three or four times, she
shook her head, as if bewailing some remembrance
or some loss; but, her sorrowful reflections found no
vent in words.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72