“‘Look here, my dear,’ says he, ‘don’t go back. Ye can go out to America,’ says he, ‘but it needn’t be to marry that dirty nigger. I’m going back to the States now,’ says he, ‘and I thought to take a wife wi’ me, but the maid I was coortin’ drew back at the last. She didn’t think so much of her word seemingly as you do. Come,’ says he, ‘you’ve seen me an’ you haven’t seen Samuel Johnson. Look me in the face and tell me if you think you could put up wi’ me?’ “The poor maid she was that upset, and that surprised, she couldn’t for the life of her look at ’en, an’ he leaned over an’ took her by the chin, very gentle-like, an’ turned up her face. “‘Look at me, my dear,’ says he, ‘an’ see if ye can trust me.’ “So at that Tamsine did look at ’en, wi’ the big tears standin’ on her eyelashes, an’ her mouth all a-quiverin’. “‘I d’ ’low I could,’ says she. “‘And, mind ye,’ goes on Jim, ‘I can make ye just so comfortable as t’other chap ’ud ha’ done. I’ve got a big place and a comfortable house, and I do want to settle down reg’lar. So say the word, my dear,’ says he. “‘Lard, maid!’ cried Maria, so sudden-like that we all fair jumped, ‘whatever be ye thinkin’ on?’ says she; ‘’tis plain what he’ve made up this cock-an’-bull story for now,’ she says. ‘He be a reg’lar deludin’ deceiver; don’t ye ha’ nothin’ to say to ’en.’ “‘It do seem very sudden,’ says Mrs. Mayne; ‘I wouldn’t go out to America wi’ a stranger, Tamsine.’ “‘Do you trust me, my dear?’ says he, looking at Tamsine, and not takin’ no notice at all of nobody else. “The maid she looked back at ’en more pitiful than ever, an’ then she did say:-- “‘I d’ ’low I do.’ “‘Well, then, so ye may,’ says he, a-shakin’ of her hand very serious like; ‘but I’ll make all fair and square for ye first. I’ll not ax too much of ye. We’ll be man and wife before we go,’ says he. “So the whole thing was made up wi’out no more trouble nor that. Jim axed Mrs. Mayne if the maid could lodge wi’ her till they was married, an’ he settled straight off what he’d pay for her board. He did pull out a pocket-book stuffed wi’ money, so as even Maria Robbins could see the maid was a-doin’ well for herself. “‘You hand me over that there money as Johnson sent ye,’ says he to Tamsine; ‘he must have it back by the next mail. I’ll look after ye now,’ says he. ‘My purse is your purse.’