didn' know nort about, did they, Annie?
Janie--that's my first wife, afore this one,--her losted three boys
when they was two year an' ten months old, an' one year an' seven
months, an' nine months old. An' her died herself when Mabel here was
six months old, didn' 'er, Annie? An' yu've a-losted Rosie, an' the
ones what never appeared in public. Our last baby, after Tommy, wer two
boys, twinses. One wer like George an' one like Tommy most; one wer my
child an' t'other wer yours, Annie. Six on 'em dead! Aye, Tony've a
see'd some trouble, I can tell 'ee, an' he ain't so old as what some on
'em be for their age, now, thru it all. But it du make a man's head
turn like."

Mrs Widger's gaze at him while he talked about the dead children was
wonderful to see--wide-eyed, soft, unflinching--wifely and motherly at
once.

"John," Tony continued, speaking of his youngest brother who has only
two children, "John du say as a man what's got seven or eight childern
be better off than a man what's got on'y two, like he, 'cause he don't
spend so much on 'em. 'Tis rot, I say! Certainly, he du spend so much
on each o' his as us du on two o' ours p'raps; but I reckon a hundred
pounds has to be wrenched an' hauled out o' these yer ol' rheumaticy
arms o' mine for each child as us rears up."

"Yes--'t has--gude that," said Mrs Widger.

"'Tisn' that I don' du it willingly. I be willing enough. But it du
maake a man du more'n he'd hae to du otherwise, an' it wears 'en out
afore his time. Tony's an ol' man now, almost, after the rate, though
he bain't but forty or thereabout, an' s'pose us has six or a dozen
more come along, Annie...."

"Gude Lord! 'Twon't be so bad as that, for sure. An' if 'tis, can't be
helped. Us must make shift wi' 'em."

Then they went on to talk about their wedding. Best remembered,
apparently, are the _hot_ wedding breakfast (an innovation then in
these parts), the Honiton lace that Mrs Widger's mother made her, and
the late arrival home from the village where they were married--a trick
which procured them quietness, whilst depriving the people in the
Square of an excitement they had stayed up half the night to witness.
"When us come'd home, 'twas all so dark and quiet as a dead plaace, an'
the chil'ern asleep upstairs, an' all," said Tony.

"Yes, 'twer," Mrs Widger broke in, her eyes brightening at the
recollection of the successful trick. "But 'twer queer, like, wi' the
childern asleep upstairs what wer to be