Faith ventured, at length, to jog her
consciousness.
"You asked me, once, a good deal about Brookline--were you there too?"
The lady nodded, then turned and looked at her with a quizzical glance.
"Ah, child, never be so curious to hear a sad story! Every one has
griefs enough to bear without appropriating other people's. Yes, we
did live in Brookline for several happy years--my husband and I. Our
home was the porter's lodge of one of those fine places you used to
admire. We were both young, hopeful, and strong. He was well
educated, but could not endure clerkly confinement, and thought himself
fortunate to be so well housed and have such healthy work. He was born
in England, and we used to laugh together because, in some vague way,
which we scarcely cared to fully understand, my husband was distantly
related to the nobility. That was the phrase--'related to the
nobility'--how we used to make fun of it, and pretend to trace out the
connection! Once, at Christmas, I presented him with a family tree,
and a peerage-book. The latter was something I had written up myself,
and _such_ nonsense, but it made us fun for many weeks. We could laugh
at anything in those days. Duncan really had no more idea of
inheriting a title and estate at that time than I, a farm-bred girl,
had myself. He was a thorough American, who loved his country, and
because his parents had died and left him alone in the world, he was
all the more helpful and self-reliant.
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