"I see you know me," said Eleanor; "but I do not remember you."
"Nay, I dare say not. I hev worked for thy father, though, iver since I were a lad big enough to wind a bobbin; thet is, when I could frame mysen to work at all. But I often wish I were a flower like one o' these big bells; they neither toil nor spin, but there's varry few men and women that are as gay and happy as they are."
"You sing as if you were happy."
"Nay, I'm not happy. I could be, if I didn't hev to work and think. But I've got a wife and some little childer, and I can't pick up a meal for 'em, as them blackbirds do, in ivery one's field and garden."
"Dear me! I thought from your voice that I had found one happy heart Everybody I meet is in trouble of some kind."
"Ay, I know. Thou hes thy own sorrow, too. I know all about it, and I think little of a man that can't forgive a wife like thee. Why-a! My wife hes forgiven me hundreds o' times; and she's a bit of a Tartar, too."
"What is your name? Have I ever known your wife?"
