I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into any house without
having a world of private talk with some one or other of the family,
being a kind of universal counsellor and confidant. We had not been
long at the farm, before the old dame got him into a corner of her
parlour, where they had a long, whispering conference together; in
which I saw, by his shrugs, that there were some dubious matters
discussed, and by his nods that he agreed with every thing she said.
After we had come out, the young man accompanied us a little distance,
and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walked
and talked together for nearly half an hour. Master Simon, who has the
usual propensity of confidants to blab every thing to the next friend
they meet with, let me know that there was a love affair in question;
the young fellow having been smitten with the charms of Phoebe
Wilkins, the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the Hall. Like most
other love concerns, it had brought its troubles and perplexities.
Dame Tibbets had long been on intimate, gossiping terms with the
housekeeper, who often visited the farm-house; but when the neighbours
spoke to her of the likelihood of a match between her son and Phoebe
Wilkins, "Marry come up!" she scouted the very idea.
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