‘Bless me!’ exclaimed Richard, taken aback for a moment; then rising from his chair he stepped up to his uncle, and slapped him heartily on the back. ‘Well done!’ he cried. ‘Well done! I give you joy! Upon my life I did n’t think you had so much go in you—you’re a splendid old chap!’ ‘Thank ’ee,’ said Isaac, without much enthusiasm. ‘I’m glad you’re not agen it.’ ‘Why should I be against it?’ returned Richard hilariously. ‘I’m a little surprised, because I did n’t think that was in your line; but, after all, “Marry in haste and repent at leisure,” the saying goes—your case is the reverse; you have taken your time about marrying, so perhaps it will be all the better for you.’ ‘I hope so, I’m sure,’ said the bridegroom-elect, dolefully; adding, as Richard, still laughing, resumed his seat, ‘I thought I’d best tell ’ee at once as there was goin’ to be a change.’ ‘Well, well, a change for the better, as you say,’ cried the other. ‘There’ll be two to welcome me when I pay the Down Farm a visit instead of one. I shall find a jolly old aunt as well as a jolly old uncle.’ Isaac took his pipe out of his mouth with a perturbed expression. ‘She bain’t so very old,’ he remarked. ‘No, no—of course not. Neither are you for that matter. May she be an evergreen like yourself!’ ‘Thank ’ee, Richard, thank ’ee. I’m glad as you approve o’ my thinking on matrimony.’ ‘Why, matrimony’s the best thing going,’ said Richard, still gaily, yet with an undercurrent of something curiously like tenderness. ‘Every grief is lessened by half, and every joy is doubled. Always a bright cheery face at the fireside, always a kind true hand in yours—a woman’s wit to point out where the man has been at fault.’ ‘Ah,’ interrupted his uncle, with a groan, ‘they be willin’ enough to do that!’ ‘Always ready to comfort you when you are in trouble,’ went on the young man without heeding him, ‘ready to advise you when you are in a difficulty—the best of companions, the most faithful of friends, the kindest of helpmates—that’s a wife!’ The farmer was gazing across at him with bewilderment mixed with delight. ‘Well said, Richard,—very well said! Ye be wonderful quick wi’ your tongue. If that’s the way ye feel about wedlock you ought to be lookin’ out for a wife o’ your own.’ ‘Nonsense, Uncle Isaac. Why, I have n’t a penny. I shall have hard work to keep myself to begin with.’ ‘Come, come, we mid be able to manage summat. I’ve a notion in my head. Ye be a-goin’ to take up farm-work agen, ye tell me; well, an’ as I says to you: Why not work on the farm where ye was brought up, and why not take wage from your own flesh and blood instead of lookin’ to strangers for ’t?’ ‘There’s no one I should like to work for better than you, Uncle Isaac—you know that.’ ‘I do know it, Richard. I d’ know it very well. “But,” says you to me, “I must have somewheres to live,” says you.’