‘I give you joy,’ said Sharpe gruffly. ‘Thank’ee, Isaac, thank’ee. Come in and take a chair. Ye may fill your pipe too—she does n’t object to a pipe.’ ‘_Who_ does n’t object to a pipe?’ said Isaac staring, with a great hand on each knee. ‘Why, Mrs. Fiander does n’t. Oh, Isaac, I be a-favoured so. I told you the A’mighty had marked me out for wedlock; well, I can truly say that this here missus promises to be the best o’ the three. Wait till ye see her, and you’ll think I’m in luck.’ Isaac gazed at him with a kind of stolid compassion, shook his head, deliberately filled his pipe, and fell to smoking. Elias did the same, and after he had puffed for a moment or two broke silence. ‘Ah! ye’ll find her most agree’ble. I did mention to her that you be used to drop in of a Sunday, and she did make no objections—no objections at all.’ ‘Did n’t she?’ returned Isaac. ‘Come, that’s a good thing.’ He paused for a moment, the veins in his forehead swelling. ‘I don’t know but if she had made objections I should n’t ha’ come all the same,’ he continued presently. ‘I’ve a-come here Sunday arter Sunday for twenty year and more. It would n’t seem very natural to stop away now.’ ‘Nay, sure,’ agreed Fiander nervously; ‘’t would n’t seem at all natural.’ The sound of a light foot was now heard crossing the room overhead and descending the stairs. ‘That be her,’ remarked Elias excitedly. The door opened, and a tall well-formed figure stood outlined against the background of fire-lit kitchen. It was almost dusk in the parlour where the two men sat. ‘Why, you’re all in the dark here!’ observed a cheerful voice. ‘Shall I light the lamp, Elias?’ ‘Do, my dear, do. This here be Mr. Isaac Sharpe, our next neighbour, as you’ve a-heard me talk on often. Isaac, here’s Mrs. Fiander.’ Isaac wedged his pipe firmly into the corner of his mouth, and extended a large hand; according to the code of manners prevalent in that neighbourhood, it was not considered necessary to rise when you greeted a lady. ‘How d’ ye do, mum? I give you joy,’ he remarked. When her hand was released Mrs. Fiander sought and found lamp and matches, and removed the shade and chimney, always with such quick decided movements that Isaac remarked to himself approvingly that she was n’t very slack about her work. She struck a match, bending over the lamp, and suddenly the light flared up. Isaac leaned forward in his favourite attitude, a hand on either knee, and took a good look at the new-comer; then drawing himself back, and removing his pipe from his mouth, he shot an indignant glance at Fiander. ‘Come, that looks more cheerful,’ remarked the unconscious bride; ‘and supper will be ready in a minute. I’ll go and get the cloth.’ As she vanished the new-made husband bent over anxiously to his friend. ‘What do you think of her?’ he remarked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.