His
father and mother they're dead, so I've heered, and he used to have
gardeens over him, but he haint kep' no gardeens lately, I reckon," said
Grandpa, with grim facetiousness.
"Why, he's been a waitin' on Weir's daughter, down here--Becky. She goes
to school to you, teacher," the old man added, presently, brightening
with a senile predilection for gossip.
"Becky's a very sensible girl," said Grandma Keeler; "and don't cast no
sheep's eyes, but goes right along and minds her own business. Becky
plays very purty on the music, too."
"Yes. But you know Dave Rollin wouldn't any more think of marrying Becky
Weir than he would of marrying me," cried Mrs. Philander. "Of all the
fishermen that have come down here not one of them ever married in
Wallencamp. He's just trifling, and she thinks he's in real earnest;
anybody can see that. You've only to mention his name to see her flush up
as red as a rose. I tell you this is a strange world," Madeline snapped
out sharply; "and Dave Rollin, I suppose, is one of the gentlemen."
"We ain't no right to say but what he's honest," said Grandma Keeler;
"Becky she's honest herself, and she takes it in other folks.
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