the utmost you could gather
from them was, that Mrs. Gilfil looked like a 'furriner, wi' such eyes,
you can't think, an' a voice as went through you when she sung at
church.' The one exception was Mrs. Patten, whose strong memory and taste
for personal narrative made her a great source of oral tradition in
Shepperton. Mr. Hackit, who had not come into the parish until ten years
after Mrs. Gilfil's death, would often put old questions to Mrs. Patten
for the sake of getting the old answers, which pleased him in the same
way as passages from a favourite book, or the scenes of a familiar play,
please more accomplished people.

'Ah, you remember well the Sunday as Mrs. Gilfil first come to church,
eh, Mrs. Patten?'

'To be sure I do. It was a fine bright Sunday as ever was seen, just at
the beginnin' o' hay harvest. Mr. Tarbett preached that day, and Mr.
Gilfil sat i' the pew with his wife. I think I see him now, a-leading her
up the aisle, an' her head not reachin' much above his elber: a little
pale woman, with eyes as black as sloes, an' yet lookin' blank-like, as
if she see'd nothing with 'em.'

'I warrant she had her weddin' clothes on?' said Mr. Hackit.

'Nothin' partikler smart--on'y a white hat tied down under her chin, an'
a white Indy muslin gown. But you don't know what Mr. Gilfil was in those
times. He was fine an' altered before you come into the parish. He'd a
fresh colour then, an' a bright look wi' his eyes, as did your heart good
to see. He looked rare and happy that Sunday; but somehow, I'd a feelin'
as it wouldn't last long. I've no opinion o' furriners, Mr. Hackit, for
I've travelled i' their country with my lady in my time, an' seen enough
o' their victuals an' their nasty ways.'

'Mrs. Gilfil come from It'ly, didn't she?'

'I reckon she did, but I niver could rightly hear about that. Mr. Gilfil
was niver to be spoke to about her, and nobody else hereabout knowed
anythin'. Howiver, she must ha' come over pretty young, for she spoke
English as well as you an' me. It's them Italians as has such fine
voices, an' Mrs. Gilfil sung, you never heared the like. He brought her
here to have tea with me one afternoon, and says he, in his jovial way,
"Now, Mrs. Patten, I want Mrs. Gilfil to see the neatest house, and drink
the best cup o' tea, in all Shepperton; you must show her your dairy and
your cheese-room, and then she shall sing you a song." An' so she did;
an' her voice seemed sometimes to fill the roo