'Experience, like a pale musician, holds

A dulcimer of patience in his hand;

Whence harmonies we cannot understand,

Of God's will in His worlds, the strain unfolds

In sad, perplexed minors.'

MRS. BROWNING.

About this time Dixon returned from Milton, and assumed her post

as Margaret's maid. She brought endless pieces of Milton gossip:

How Martha had gone to live with Miss Thornton, on the latter's

marriage; with an account of the bridesmaids, dresses and

breakfasts, at that interesting ceremony; how people thought that

Mr. Thornton had made too grand a wedding of it, considering he

had lost a deal by the strike, and had had to pay so much for the

failure of his contracts; how little money articles of

furniture--long cherished by Dixon--had fetched at the sale,

which was a shame considering how rich folks were at Milton; how

Mrs. Thornton had come one day and got two or three good

bargains, and Mr. Thornton had come the next, and in his desire

to obtain one or two things, had bid against himself, much to the

enjoyment of the bystanders, so as Dixon observed, that made

things even; if Mrs. Thornton paid too little, Mr. Thornton paid

too much.

Mr. Bell had sent all sorts of orders about the books;

there was no understanding him, he was so particular; if he had

come himself it would have been all right, but letters always

were and always will be more puzzling than they are worth. Dixon

had not much to tell about the Higginses. Her memory had an

aristocratic bias, and was very treacherous whenever she tried to

recall any circumstance connected with those below her in life.

Nicholas was very well she believed. He had been several times at

the house asking for news of Miss Margaret--the only person who

ever did ask, except once Mr. Thornton. And Mary? oh! of course

she was very well, a great, stout, slatternly thing! She did

hear, or perhaps it was only a dream of hers, though it would be

strange if she had dreamt of such people as the Higginses, that

Mary had gone to work at Mr. Thornton's mill, because her father

wished her to know how to cook; but what nonsense that could mean

she didn't know. Margaret rather agreed with her that the story

was incoherent enough to be like a dream. Still it was pleasant

to have some one now with whom she could talk of Milton, and

Milton people. Dixon was not over-fond of the subject, rather

wishing to leave that part of her life in shadow. She liked much

more to dwell upon speeches of Mr. Bell's, which had suggested an

idea to her of what was really his intention--making Margaret his

heiress. But her young lady gave her no encouragement, nor in any

way gratified her insinuating enquiries, however disguised in the

form of suspicions or assertions.




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