"As well as if she was my own mother. No disrespect to the lady, sir, if you know her," he made haste to add, glancing hurriedly at me. "What I mean is, she was so handsome, I could never forget the look of her sweet face if I lived a hundred years."
"Can you describe her?"
"I don’t know, sirs; she was tall and grand-looking, had the brightest eyes and the whitest hand, and smiled in a way to make even a common man like me wish he had never seen her."
"Would you know her in a crowd?"
"I would know her anywhere."
"Very well; now tell us all you can about that marriage."
"Well, sirs, it was something like this. I had been in Mr. Stebbins’ employ about a year, when one morning as I was hoeing in the garden I saw a gentleman walk rapidly up the road to our gate and come in. I noticed him particularly, because he was so fine-looking; unlike anybody in F, and, indeed, unlike anybody I had ever seen, for that matter; but I should n’t have thought much about that if there had n’t come along, not five minutes after, a buggy with two ladies in it, which stopped at our gate, too. I saw they wanted to get out, so I went and held their horse for them, and they got down and went into the house."
"Did you see their faces?"
"No, sir; not then. They had veils on."
"Very well, go on."
"I had n’t been to work long, before I heard some one calling my name, and looking up, saw Mr. Stebbins standing in the doorway beckoning. I went to him, and he said, ‘I want you, Tim; wash your hands and
