"Have you any cotton-batting, or black sewing-silk, to give me,
to quilt it with?"
"No."
"Humph!" returned the old dame, in a tone which seemed to contradict
my assertion. She then settled herself in her chair, and, after
shaking her foot awhile, and fixing her piercing eyes upon me for
some minutes, she commenced the following list of interrogatories: -
"Is your father alive?"
"No; he died many years ago, when I was a young girl."
"Is your mother alive?"
"Yes."
"What is her name?" I satisfied her on this point.
"Did she ever marry again?"
"She might have done so, but she loved her husband too well,
and preferred living single."
"Humph! We have no such notions here. What was your father?"
"A gentleman, who lived upon his own estate."
"Did he die rich?"
"He lost the greater part of his property from being surety for
another."
"That's a foolish business. My man burnt his fingers with that.
And what brought you out to this poor country - you, who are no
more fit for it than I am to be a fine lady?"
"The promise of a large grant of land, and the false statements we
heard regarding it."
"Do you like the country?"
"No; and I fear I never shall."
"I thought not; for the drop is always on your cheek, the children
tell me; and those young ones have keen eyes.
