Norton
yestherday--I mane, I thought I was."
"How was that?" asked his master. "Why, sir, I heard there was a fine,
good-looking widow of that name, livin' in Meeklenburgh street,
where she keeps a dairy; and sure enough there I found her. Do you
undherstand, sir?"
"Why should I not, sirra? What mystery is there in it that I should
not?"
"Deuce a sich a blazer of a widow I seen this seven years. I went early
to her place, and the first thing I saw was a lump of a six-year-ould--a
son of hers--playin' the Pandean pipes upon a whack o' bread and butther
that he had aiten at the top into canes. Somehow, although I can't tell
exactly why, I tuck a fancy to become acquainted with her, and proposed,
if she had no objection, to take a cup o' tay with her yestherday
evenin', statin' at the time that I had something to say that might turn
out to her advantage."
"But what mystery is there in all this?" said his master.
"Mysthery, sir--why, where was there ever a widow since the creation of
Peter White, that hadn't more or less of mysthery about her?"
"Well, but what was the mystery here?" asked the other.
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