“Is’t thee, Fan?” asked Nellie. “Where be feyther?” Then, remembering her manners, she added, “My sister Frances, Master Dan’l.” Frances and I were speedily friends, in fact, the young woman saw too many strangers to be troubled by shyness. “Feyther’s main busy, and mustn’t be spoke to,” she observed, with rather a knowing look at her sister. “But the turnkey’ll let us in. It’s a mort easier to get in nor to get out of this old coop, Mas’r Dan’l.” I quite assented to this proposition, but remarked that I hoped the turnkey would not make any mistake about us. “No fear,” said Frances, “I was born here and knows the ways on it.” “What’s that straw for, Frances?” I asked, for I loved to acquire information. “For the Frenchers to make hats of. I brings them this much most days,” she answered, looking down on her big bundle. I must really have been growing up lately, for (for the first time in my life) an instinct of gallantry seized me, and I offered to carry it for her. She declined in rather a hurried manner. “I’d liefer car’ it myself, thanking you the same. It’s no heft at all, and maybe ye’d shed it about.” “Not I,” said I, indignantly, my gallantry gone. “Do you think I’ve never carried a truss of straw before? That’s just like a girl. But what’s that in the middle of the bundle?” I continued, eyeing it curiously. “Why, it’s a bone, I believe!” Frances threw the corner of her apron over the bundle in a very pettish manner, and to my great surprise grew as red as a poppy. What was there to blush about in a bone? Nell struck in hurriedly— “Yes, of course it’s a bone, Dan. And what could they make their buttons and ivory boxes out of but bone?” “I’m sure I don’t know,” I said, not liking to suggest “ivory” for fear, as tempers were ruffled, they might leave me outside. “Then don’t go for to ax silly questions,” retorted Nell. “Can us go in, Roche?” “Ay, my honies,” returned Roche, the turnkey, whom we had now reached. “Leastwise you and Fan can, in the coorse of natur; but who be this young crut?” {209} “Oh, missus’ nevvy he be, as wants to see the Frenchers at work. ’Tis only a young boy, but we’d just as lief let him stay if you’d liefer not let him in.” I did not feel grateful to my young friend for this suggestion, which, however, was probably dictated by the wiliness of woman. “Oh, take him in there, and leave him if you’ve a mind, my beauty. I reckon one more won’t make no odds in there.” This he seemed to consider a first-class joke, for he guffawed till we were out of hearing.