'What a handy jade it is!' said the locksmith to Mrs Varden, who stood
by with folded hands--rather proud of her husband too--while Miggs held
his cap and sword at arm's length, as if mistrusting that the latter
might run some one through the body of its own accord; 'but never marry
a soldier, Doll, my dear.'
Dolly didn't ask why not, or say a word, indeed, but stooped her head
down very low to tie his sash.
'I never wear this dress,' said honest Gabriel, 'but I think of poor Joe
Willet. I loved Joe; he was always a favourite of mine. Poor Joe!--Dear
heart, my girl, don't tie me in so tight.'
Dolly laughed--not like herself at all--the strangest little laugh that
could be--and held her head down lower still.
'Poor Joe!' resumed the locksmith, muttering to himself; 'I always wish
he had come to me. I might have made it up between them, if he had. Ah!
old John made a great mistake in his way of acting by that lad--a great
mistake.--Have you nearly tied that sash, my dear?'
What an ill-made sash it was! There it was, loose again and trailing
on the ground. Dolly was obliged to kneel down, and recommence at the
beginning.
'Never mind young Willet, Varden,' said his wife frowning; 'you might
find some one more deserving to talk about, I think.
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