'In short, 'tis out of the question
that a human being can be so mournful as black edges half-an-inch
wide. I'm sure people don't feel more than a very narrow border
when they feels most of all.'
'And there are two little girls, are there not?' said Stephen.
'Nice clane little faces!--left motherless now.'
'They used to come to Parson Swancourt's to play with Miss Elfride
when I were there,' said William Worm. 'Ah, they did so's!' The
latter sentence was introduced to add the necessary melancholy to
a remark which, intrinsically, could hardly be made to possess
enough for the occasion. 'Yes,' continued Worm, 'they'd run
upstairs, they'd run down; flitting about with her everywhere.
Very fond of her, they were. Ah, well!'
'Fonder than ever they were of their mother, so 'tis said here and
there,' added a labourer.
'Well, you see, 'tis natural. Lady Luxellian stood aloof from 'em
so--was so drowsy-like, that they couldn't love her in the jolly-
companion way children want to like folks. Only last winter I
seed Miss Elfride talking to my lady and the two children, and
Miss Elfride wiped their noses for em' SO careful--my lady never
once seeing that it wanted doing; and, naturally, children take to
people that's their best friend.'
'Be as 'twill, the woman is dead and gone, and we must make a
place for her,' said John. 'Come, lads, drink up your ale, and
we'll just rid this corner, so as to have all clear for beginning
at the wall, as soon as 'tis light to-morrow.
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