He accompanied the word with appropriate action. “For shame!” cried she, in a tone which nevertheless was not displeased, “you’ve begun at the wrong end after all.” “Not at all,” he retorted, “’tis the proper way to start a courtship. I’ll tell ye summat, Ruby, my maid. We’ll have the banns put up on Sunday.” KEEPER GUPPY. “Lard ha’ mercy me! What be doin’, Jan? You that’s only jist out o’ your bed! Whatever ’ud Doctor say? Boots too! Where be goin’?” Old John Guppy cast a lowering glance at his spouse, and continued to button his gaiters in silence. This task concluded, he stretched out his hand and pointed imperatively to the gun slung over the chimney-piece. “Reach that down,” he commanded. “Ye’re never goin’ out! You as has been four month and more on your back! What’s the use on’t? There’s a new keeper yonder--new ways, and strangers pretty nigh everywhere. I’d ha’ had a bit more sperrit nor to go up there where I bain’t wanted.” “I be goin’, woman. Squire do pay I money, an’ I’ll give en his money’s worth. I must have an eye to things, or they’ll be gettin’ in a reg’lar caddle up yon. New keeper, he’ll not know so very much about the place, and Jim--he were always a terr’ble sammy--he never did seem to see what was under his nose wi’out I were there to rub it into it.” “Well, but Jan, the bit o’ money what Squire gives ’ee is a pension--same as what soldiers an’ sick-like do get i’ their ancient years. Squire don’t expect ’ee to do no more work for en now, and ye be so fearful punished wi’ the rheumatics, an’ all. No--‘Mrs. Guppy,’ says Squire to I, so considerate as could be, ‘Mrs. Guppy,’ he says, ‘Jan have served I faithful nigh upon two score year--now he can take a bit o’ rest,’ he says; ‘I’ve a-made sure as he’ll be comfortable in’s old age. The pension ’ull be paid reg’lar so long as he do live,’ says he, ‘or so long as I do live,’ he says, laughin’ cheerful-like, ‘for ’pon my word, I do think your Jan ’ll very likely see I down--he be uncommon tough, so old as he mid be,’ says Squire. ‘And if I do go first, my son ’ll see as he wants for nothin’ in his time,’ he says. So let I light your pipe, Jan, my dear, and sit ’ee down sensible like, i’ the chimbley corner--’tis the best place for ’ee, good man.” “You can light my pipe, if you like,” said John, still gloomily, “but I be goin’ up-along all the same. Things ’ull be goin’ to ruin if I don’t tell ’em how they used to be carried on i’ my time.” “I d’ ’low ye’ll not get so far,” said Mrs. Guppy; “but of all the obstinate men--well, there, ’tis a good thing as the A’mighty made half the world o’ women-folk, else everythin’ ’ud be fair topsy-turvy.”