he work-people as possible. But at
first so slow and awkward were Nancy's endeavors, and such an effect had
it on her frame, that it was feared she must give it up. This would have
been a terrible calamity; and the tears of the two sisters and the
benevolence of the employer enabled Nancy to pass through this severe
ordeal. In a while she acquired sufficient dexterity, and thenceforward
went through her work with great accuracy and perseverance. As far as
any intercourse with the workpeople was concerned, she might be said to
be dumb. Scarcely ever did she exchange a word with any one, but she
returned kind nods and smiles; and every morning and evening, and at
dinner-time, the two sisters might be seen going to and fro, side by
side--Jane often talking with some of them; the little, odd-looking
sister walking silent and listening.

Five more years, and Jane was a young woman. Amid her companions, who
were few of them above the middle size, she had a tall and striking
appearance. Her father had been a remarkably tall and strong man, and
she possessed something of his stature, though none of his irritable
disposition. She was extremely pretty, of a blooming, fresh complexion,
and graceful form. She was remarkable for the sweetness of her
expression, which was the index of her disposition. By her side still
went that odd, broad-built, but still pale and little sister. Jane was
extremely admired by the young men of the neighborhood, and had already
many offers, but she listened to none. "Where I go must Nancy go," she
said to herself, "and of whom can I be sure?"

Of Nancy no one took notice. Her pale, somewhat large features, her
thoughtful, silent look, and her short, stout figure, gave you an idea
of a dwarf, though she could not strictly be called one. No one would
think of Nancy as a wife--where Jane went she must go; the two clung
together with one heart and soul. The blow which deprived them of their
brother seemed to bind them inseparably together.

Mrs. Dunster, besides her seaming, at which, in truth, she earned a
miserable sum, had now for some years been the post-woman from the
village to the Bull's Head, where the mail, going on to Tideswell, left
the letter-bag. Thither and back, wet or dry, summer or winter, she went
every day, the year round. With her earnings, and those of the girls,
the world went as well with them as the world goes on the average with
the poor; and she kept a small, neat cottage. Cramp