An' if you was took, which God forbid, theer'd be
that mort o' money to come to Michael, him bein' your faither--that is,
s'pose the cheel was took tu, which God forbid likewise. An' he'd burn
it--every note--I mean Michael. Now if you was to name Tom--just in case o'
accidents--? He'm of your awn blood by's faither."
"But my baaby must be fust."
"In coorse er must. 'Tis lawful an' right. Love childern do come as sweet
an' innercent on to the airth as them born o' wedlock--purty sawls. 'Tis
the fashion to apprentice 'em to theer faithers mostly, an' they be a sort
o' poor cousins o' the rightful fam'ly; but your lil wan--well--theer edn'
gwaine to be any 'poor cousin' talk 'bout en--if en do live. But I was
talkin' o' the will."
"I've writ it out all fair in ink 'cordin' as Uncle Chirgwin advised," said
Joan. "Fust comes my cheel, then Tom. Uncle sez theer ban't no call to name
others. I wanted hisself to take a half on it, but he said theer weren't no
need an' he wouldn't nohow."
"Quite right," declared Thomasin. "Iss fay! He be a plain dealer an' a good
righteous man."
Joan's thoughts meanwhile were mainly concerned with her surroundings, and
when she had walked thrice about the garden, visited the pigs, peeped into
the tool-house to smell the paint and twine, noted the ripening plums and a
promising little crop of beets coming on in the field beyond, she went
indoors.
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