. Our village. ly as ever, with fourteen children ofall ages and sizes, from nineteen years to nineteenmonths, working harder than any people in the parish,and enjoying themselves more. I would match themfor labour and laughter against any family in P^ is a blithe, jolly dame, whose beauty has amplifiedinto comeliness ; he is tall, and thin, and bony, withsinews like whipcord, a strong lively voice, a sharj)weather-beaten face, and eyes and lips that smile andbrighten when he speaks into a most contagious are very poor, and I often wish them richer ; butI dont know—perh
. Our village. ly as ever, with fourteen children ofall ages and sizes, from nineteen years to nineteenmonths, working harder than any people in the parish,and enjoying themselves more. I would match themfor labour and laughter against any family in P^ is a blithe, jolly dame, whose beauty has amplifiedinto comeliness ; he is tall, and thin, and bony, withsinews like whipcord, a strong lively voice, a sharj)weather-beaten face, and eyes and lips that smile andbrighten when he speaks into a most contagious are very poor, and I often wish them richer ; butI dont know—perhaps it might put them out. Quite close to Farmer Whites is a little ruinouscottage, white-washed once, and now in a sad state ofbetweenity, where dangling stockings and shirts, swelledby the wind, drying in a neglected garden, give signal E so OUR VILLAGE of a washerwoman. There dwells, at present in singleblessedness, Betty Adams, the wife of our sometimesgardener. I never saw an> one who so much reminded. me in person of that lad} whom ever}-body knows,Mistress Meg IMerrilies ;—as tall, as grizzled, as statch,as dark, as gipsy-looking, bonneted and gowned likeher prototype, and almost as oracular. Here the re-semblance ceases. Mrs. Adams is a perfectly honest, wPS- I ^
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Keywords: ., bookauthorritchieannethackeray1, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890
