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Therefore when Mrs Bagnet at last appears, rosy from the invigorating pail, and sits down to her work, Mr Bagnet growls, Old girl! and winks monitions to her to find out whats the matter. Why, George! says Mrs Bagnet, quietly threading her needle. How low you are! Am I? Not good company? Well, I am afraid I am not. He aint at all like Bluffy, mother! cries little Malta. Because he aint well, I think, mother, adds Quebec. Sure thats a bad sign not to be like Bluffy, too! returns the trooper, kissing the young damsels. But its true, with a sigh true, I am afraid. These little ones are always right! George, says Mrs Bagnet, working busily, if I thought you cross enough to think of anything that a shrill old soldiers wife who could have bitten her tongue off afterwards, and ought to have done it almost said this morning, I dont know what I shouldnt say to you now. My kind soul of a darling, returns the trooper. Not a morsel of it. Because really and truly, George, what I said and meant to say, was that I trusted Lignum to you, and was sure youd bring him through it. And you have brought him through it, noble! Thankee, my dear! says George. I am glad of your good opinion. In giving Mrs Bagnets hand, with her work in it, a friendly shake for she took her seat beside him the troopers attention is attracted to her face. After looking at it for a little while as she plies her needle, he looks to young Woolwich, sitting on his stool in the corner, and beckons that fifer to him. See there, my boy, says George, very gently smoothing the mothers hair with his hand, theres a good loving forehead for you! All bright with love of you, my boy. A little touched by the sun and the weather through following your father about and taking care of you, but as fresh and wholesome as a ripe apple on a tree. Mr Bagnets face expresses, so far as in its wooden material lies, the highest approbation and acquiescence. The time will come, my boy, pursues the trooper, when this hair of your mothers will be grey, and this forehead all crossed and re-crossed with wrinkles and a fine old lady shell be then. Take care, while you are young, that you can think in those days, I never whitened a hair of her dear head, I never marked a sorrowful line in her face! For of all the many things that you can think of when you are a man, you had better have that by you, Woolwich! Mr George concludes by rising from his chair, seating the boy beside his mother in it, and saying, with something of a hurry about him, that hell smoke his pipe in the street a bit. |
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