HOPKINS(gently putting her hand on Miss Martin's shoulder).
My dear child! pardon the liberty: I still feel for you the affection of a dry nurse: what is the matter with you?
MISS MARTIN.
Still the old grievance, my dear Hopkins; my aunt trying to make up a match for me.
HOPKINS.
Ay, poor good lady: she can't leave that alone for the soul of her. She would make up matches at home for every country girl in the neighbourhood if she could. I even believe, if I had not been once married already, which she thinks sufficient for the credit of any woman, she would still be for trying to make up a match for my old crazy bones, God help me!—But don't let it vex you thus, my dear ma'am: I have brought you something that will please and divert you.
MISS MARTIN.
What is that, Hopkins?
HOPKINS.
A letter from my little boy whom my lady puts to school, written with his own hand, dear little
