‘’T would n’t ha’ been very becomin’ for me to speak,’ returned the farmer, still with great dignity. ‘I knowed my dooty to Mrs. F., and I were n’t a-goin’ to say nothin’ as mid hurt her feelin’s. But I did try and bring ye together, Richard; and I did try to give ye so many hints as I could. D’ ye mind how often I did say what a dear woman Mrs. F. were, and what a good wife she ’d make? Ah, many a time I did. And d’ ye mind how I used to tell ’ee it was bad to hurt a woman’s feelin’s? And you would n’t take a bit o’ pains to be friendly and pleasant wi’ her! I did look for some return from ’ee, Richard, and I were disapp’inted. And I did expect at least as ye would tell me straight whether you could take to the notion or whether ye could n’t. ’T was the least ye mid do, I think. I were that anxious, and that upset—I don’t see as it’s any laughin’ matter,’ he continued with gathering wrath, for Rosalie’s face was now dimpling all over with smiles and Richard’s hilarity seemed to increase rather than diminish. ‘Come, I’ll have a straight answer one way or t’ other. Will ye give up this here stupid notion o’ going out o’ the country, Richard, and bide here and see if you and Mrs. F. can’t make it up between ye? And you, Mrs. F., my dear, will ’ee jist think over this here matter, and see if Richard would n’t do as well as me?’ Richard suddenly ceased laughing, and stepped to Rosalie’s side. ‘Will you, Rosalie?’ he said, very gently and tenderly. ‘Will you try to like me a little?’ And, without waiting for an answer, he took her hands and laid them softly about his own neck, and stooped and kissed her. ‘Dear heart alive!’ exclaimed Isaac, clapping his hands. ‘That were n’t sich a bad beginning, Richard, I will say! You bain’t very slack once you do make a start.’ He paused to laugh, long and loud. ‘Well, I never!’ he cried. ‘Nay, Richard, ye don’t do things by halves. Well, Mrs. F., my dear,’ he added, more anxiously, seeing that Rosalie did not speak, ‘what d’ ye say?’ ‘I suppose,’ returned Rosalie faintly, with her face half hidden on Richard’s shoulder, ‘I suppose I’ll have to try.’ ‘Do ’ee now, my dear,’ cried Isaac, much relieved. ‘Ye’ll find ye won’t _re_-pent it. And ye’ll not lose nothing by it neither,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Richard be jist the same as a son to I—he’ll have all as I ’ve a-got to leave when I be gone. I don’t want for to seem unkind, but it ’ud be a very great comfort to me if ye could make up your mind to’t.’ ‘Oh, I think,’ murmured Rosalie, ‘that I can make up my mind to it.’ ‘Well, then,’ cried Isaac, chuckling and rubbing his hands, ‘all’s well as ends well! ’Ees, we may say that—all’s well as ends well! We’ll be the best o’ friends as ever; but I do think as Richard ’ull be more suitable as a husband, my dear. Ye mid as well see Mrs. F. home now, Richard. I think I’ll go back to my bit o’ supper; ’t will be cold enough by now, I reckon.’