"To think of that!" said Aunt M'riar. It was the time--not the teeth--that seemed so wonderful. Naturally old Mrs. Prichard's teeth went with her. But fifty years! And their owner quite bright still, when once she got talking.
She was more talkative than usual this afternoon, and continued:--"No, I do not believe, Mrs. Wardle, there was ever a girl with suchlike teeth as mine were then." And then this memory brought back its companion memory of the long past, but with no new sadness to her voice: "Only my dear sister Phoebe's, Mrs. Wardle, I've told you about. She was my twin sister ... I've told you ... you recollect?..."
"Yes, indeed, ma'am, and died when you was in the Colony!"
"I've never seen another more beautiful than Phoebe." She spoke with such supreme unconsciousness of the twinship that Aunt M'riar forgot it, too, until her next words came. "I was never free to say it of her in those days, for they would have made sport of me for saying it. There was none could tell us apart then. It does not matter now." She seemed to fall away into an absent-minded dream, always caressing Dave's sunny locks, which wanted cutting.
Aunt M'riar did not instantly perceive why a twin could not praise her twin's beauty; at least, it needed reflection. She was clear on the point, however, by the time Dave, merely watchful till now, suddenly asked a question:--"What are stwins?" He had long been anxious for enlightenment on this point, and now saw his opportunity. His inquiry was checked--if his curiosity was not satisfied--by a statement that when a little boy had a brother the same age that was twins, incorrectly _s_twins. He had to affect satisfaction.
The old woman, roused by Dave's question, attested the general truth of his informant's statements; then went back to the memory of her sister. "But I never saw her again," said she.
"No, ma'am," said Aunt M'riar. "So I understood. It was in England she died?"
"No--no! Out at sea. She was drowned at sea. Fifty years ago ... Yes!--well on to fifty years ago." She fell back a little into her dreamy mood; then roused herself to say:--"I often wonder, Mrs. Wardle, suppose my sister had lived to be my age, should we have kept on alike?"