and in Monkshaven. It's a fine thing to live in a large town,
Sylvia; an' if yo're looking out for a husband, I'd advise yo' to
tak' one as lives in a town. I feel as if I were buried alive comin'
back here, such an out-o'-t'-way place after t' Side, wheere there's
many a hundred carts and carriages goes past in a day. I've a great
mind for t' tak yo' two lassies back wi' me, and let yo' see a bit
o' t' world; may-be, I may yet.

Her sister Bessy looked much pleased with this plan, but Sylvia was
rather inclined to take offence at Molly's patronizing ways, and
replied,--

'I'm none so fond o' noise and bustle; why, yo'll not be able to
hear yoursels speak wi' all them carts and carriages. I'd rayther
bide at home; let alone that mother can't spare me.'

It was, perhaps, a rather ungracious way of answering Molly
Brunton's speech, and so she felt it to be, although her invitation
had been none of the most courteously worded. She irritated Sylvia
still further by repeating her last words,--

'"Mother can't spare me;" why, mother 'll have to spare thee
sometime, when t' time for wedding comes.'

'I'm none going to be wed,' said Sylvia; 'and if I were, I'd niver
go far fra' mother.'

'Eh! what a spoilt darling it is. How Brunton will laugh when I tell
him about yo'; Brunton's a rare one for laughin'. It's a great thing
to have got such a merry man for a husband. Why! he has his joke for
every one as comes into t' shop; and he'll ha' something funny to
say to everything this evenin'.'

Bessy saw that Sylvia was annoyed, and, with more delicacy than her
sister, she tried to turn the conversation.

'That's a pretty ribbon in thy hair, Sylvia; I'd like to have one o'
t' same pattern. Feyther likes pickled walnuts stuck about t' round
o' beef, Molly.'

'I know what I'm about,' replied Mrs. Brunton, with a toss of her
married head.

Bessy resumed her inquiry.

'Is there any more to be had wheere that come fra', Sylvia?'

'I don't know,' replied Sylvia. 'It come fra' Foster's, and yo' can
ask.'

'What might it cost?' said Betsy, fingering an end of it to test its
quality.

'I can't tell,' said Sylvia, 'it were a present.'

'Niver mak' ado about t' price,' said Molly; 'I'll gi'e thee enough
on 't to tie up thy hair, just like Sylvia's. Only thou hastn't such
wealth o' curls as she has; it'll niver look t' same i' thy straight
locks. And who might it be as give it thee, Sylvia?' asked the
unscrupulous, if good-