When he comes, your husband will
look beneath the surface and there he'll find what's better than pink
cheeks and a glad eye. So you wait," I said, "for a chap who's past the
silly stage and wants a comfortable home and a good cook and helpmate
who'll look at both sides of sixpence before she spends it."
'Twas well meant, but like a lot of other well-intending remarks, fell a
good bit short to the hearer. In fact the woman's reply threw a bit of
light on character and showed me a side of Minnie's mind I had not
bargained for. She flickered up as I spoke and stared out of her faded
eyes, and for a passing moment there comed a glint in 'em, like the sun on
a dead fish.
"I didn't know I was so plain as all that!" she snapped out. "There's
uglier than me in the village, unless I can't see straight, and whether or
no, when I marry, it'll be for love, let me tell you, Mary Stocks, and not
to count my husband's sixpences!"
"May he have more than you can count, my dear, when he do come," I said,
for the soft answer that turns away wrath has mostly been my motto. And
then I left her, champing on the bit, so to say; and I wondered where the
poor soul had seen a less fanciable maiden than herself in our village, or
any other. But 'tis the mercy of Providence to hide reality from us where
'tis like to hurt most, and no doubt if our neighbours knew the naked
truth of their queer appearances and uncomfortable natures, there would
come a rush of them felo-de-sees and a lot of unhappiness that ignorance
escapes.
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