The pore half-starved thing came
up to me in Llanbeblig churchyard.'
'Llanbeblig churchyard?' I exclaimed, drawing close up to the bed.
'How came you in Llanbeblig churchyard?' But then I remembered that,
according to her own story, she had married a Welshman.
'How did I come in Llanbeblig churchyard?' said the woman in a tone
in which irony and fear were strangely mingled. 'Well, p'leaceman, I
don't mean to be sarcy: but seein' as all my pore dear 'usband's kith
and kin o' the name o' Goodjohn was buried in Llanbeblig churchyard,
p'raps you'll be kind enough to let me go there sometimes, an' p'raps
be buried there when my time comes.'
'But what took you there?' I said.
'What took me to Llanbeblig churchyard?' exclaimed the woman, whose
natural dogged courage seemed to be returning to her. 'What made me
leave every fardin' I had in the world with Poll Onion, when we
ommust wanted bread, an' go to Carnarvon on Shanks's pony? I sha'n't
tell ye. I comed by the gal 'onest enough, an' she never comed to no
'arm through me, less mendin' 'er does for 'er, and bringin' 'er to
London, and bein' a mother to 'er, an' givin' 'er a few baskets an'
matches to sell is a-doin' 'er any 'arm.
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