“Do’ know’s I blame her,” ventured Mr. Briley.  “Women folks is dreadful pudjicky about their cookin’.  I’ve always heard you was one o’ the best o’ cooks, Mis’ Tobin.  I know them doughnuts an’ things you’ve give me in times past, when I was drivin’ by.  Wish I had some on ’em now.  I never let on, but Mis’ Ash’s cookin’s the best by a long chalk.  Mis’ Peak’s handy about some things, and looks after mendin’ of me up.”

“It doos seem as if a man o’ your years and your quiet make ought to have a home you could call your own,” suggested the passenger.  “I kind of hate to think o’ your bangein’ here and boardin’ there, and one old woman mendin’, and the other settin’ ye down to meals that like’s not don’t agree with ye.”

“Lor’, now, Mis’ Tobin, le’s not fuss round no longer,” said Mr. Briley impatiently.  “You know you covet me same’s I do you.”

“I don’t nuther.  Don’t you go an’ say fo’lish things you can’t stand to.”

“I’ve been tryin’ to git a chance to put in a word with you ever sence—­Well, I expected you’d want to get your feelin’s kind o’ calloused after losin’ Tobin.”

“There’s nobody can fill his place,” said the widow.

“I do’ know but I can fight for ye town-meetin’ days, on a pinch,” urged Jefferson boldly.

“I never see the beat o’ you men fur conceit,” and Mrs. Tobin laughed.  “I ain’t goin’ to bother with ye, gone half the time as you be, an’ carryin’ on with your Mis’ Peaks and Mis’ Ashes.  I dare say you’ve promised yourself to both on ’em twenty times.”

“I hope to gracious if I ever breathed a word to none on ’em!” protested the lover. “‘T ain’t for lack o’ opportunities set afore me, nuther;” and then Mr. Briley craftily kept silence, as if he had made a fair proposal, and expected a definite reply.

The lady of his choice was, as she might have expressed it, much beat about.  As she soberly thought, she was getting along in years, and must put up with Jefferson all the rest of the time.  It was not likely she would ever have the chance of choosing again, though she was one who liked variety.

Jefferson wasn’t much to look at, but he was pleasant and appeared boyish and young-feeling.  “I do’ know’s I should do better,” she said unconsciously and half aloud.  “Well, yes, Jefferson, seein’ it’s you.  But we’re both on us kind of old to change our situation.”  Fanny Tobin gave a gentle sigh.

“Hooray!” said Jefferson.  “I was scairt you meant to keep me sufferin’ here a half an hour.  I declare, I’m more pleased than I calc’lated on.  An’ I expected till lately to die a single man!”

“’Twould re’lly have been a shame; ’tain’t natur’,” said Mrs. Tobin, with confidence.  “I don’t see how you held out so long with bein’ solitary.”

“I’ll hire a hand to drive for me, and we’ll have a good comfortable winter, me an’ you an’ the old sorrel.  I’ve been promisin’ of her a rest this good while.”