"A' fust," continued the old man, when the filial hilarity had somewhat subsided, "I jes' felt like I couldn't spar' either o' the gals. Whenst my darter was born, the fust thing I done war ter buy me a shootin' iron, express fur the fust feller ez kem a-sidlin' round, talkin' 'bout marryin' her, an' takin' her away, an' tryin' ter make her b'lieve ez he was a finer feller 'n her own dad: an' I didn't know--the insurance o' some folks is powerful survigrous--but he _mought_ set up ter purtend ter be _better lookin'_!" His daughter might seem to have shown her appreciation of his famous good looks by adopting them all. As she lifted her eyes and smiled upon the narrator, the brilliant and spirited beauty of her face might indeed be a welcome reminiscence of the time when he, too, wore so fair a guise, and might impart a zestful relish of the resemblance. "An' then Ad'licia, she kem hyar when her mother, my sister Amandy, died. My sister hed married a second time, a mighty mean man, an' whenst I tuk Ad'licia--she war 'bout three year old--I jes' said, 'Yer mam didn't hev much jedgmint in marryin', an' I reckon ye'll take the failin' arter her; an' ye'll show sech jedgmint ez ye kin l'arn in marryin' nobody.' An' she agreed: she warn't very young at three, jes' sorter youngish; an' though people mought think she hedn't hed a chance ter view the world on sech a p'int, she hed her senses powerful well in hand. So we made a solemn promise. An' I felt plumb sot up till lately. I don't want nare one of 'em ter marry. A fust-rate man ain't wuth a fifth-rate woman, much less a fust-rate woman," he declared chivalrously. "Leastwise, ye can't git the gals' daddies ter think so. An' now, jes' ez we air all so sot an' stiddy in our minds, hyar kems this widower, this _perfessional_ widower; fur he don't show no signs o' bein' nuthin' else! An' we dunno whether he kems ter listen at Julia hold her tongue, or Ad'licia talk, or hear Luther praise God fur the weather, or ter git my best advice on politics. We'd do ennything ter git shet o' him. He mought hev air one o' the gals, ef he'd only say _which_." And he chuckled as he gazed into the fire. "What's his business? Farmer, I suppose?" suggested Kenniston. "Naw; he hev got a leetle store,--powerful leetle trade, 'count o' the cross-roads store at the settlemint, though he trades right smart. Liberal, too. He'll take ennything,--load o' corn, load o' wood, sech like heavy truck ez thar ain't no sale fur ginerally, 'count o' the wagonin' an' roads bein' so heavy. Whenst you-uns git yer railroad put through,"--he gave him a rallying wink at this aberration, as he esteemed the projected narrow gauge,--"ye'll mend all that." "Oh, yes; you'll be in touch with the markets of the world then," said Kenniston, with his satiric laugh. "Only a little question of freight rates between you and New York."