"I hope she's better than she used to be,--when we heard of her." "She'll never be better.

But then she does not become much worse.
I think she does grow a little weaker.

She's older than I am, you know,--two years older; but you would think she was quite an old woman to look at her." Then, for the next half-hour, they talked about Mary Belton as they visited every corner of the place.

Belton still had an eye to business as he went on talking, and Clara remarked how many sticks he moved as he went, how many stones he kicked on one side, and how invariably he noted any defect in the fences.

But still he talked of his sister, swearing that she was as good as gold, and at last wiping away the tears from his eyes as he described her maladies.