“‘And what husband?’ says I, knowin’ very well what he was at, but lettin’ on I didn’t understand. ‘Not a farmer,’ says I, ‘for I’m not good enough to be a farmer’s missus; and not a cottager’s,’ says I, ‘for I’m too good to be a poor man’s slave; and not a soldier fur sure, for soldiers goes to the wars and gets killed; and not a sailor—’ “‘And why not a sailor, Molly,’ says he. ‘Sailors has half a dozen wives they sayn,’ I answered him back as impudent as you please, ‘and what good would it do me t’ wed wi’ a mon who was always at say?’ “‘Sailors gets paid off ship now and again; then they likes to think there’s a little whoam and a little wife waitin’ for ’em. ’Tis a miserable thing,’ says he, ‘to know as theer’s nobry lookin’ out for yo’, nobry as cares whether you are dead or wick, no place wheer yo’re made welcome.’ “‘Poor Will,’ says I, wi’ my face turned away, and my e’en cast down. “‘Nay,’ says he, ‘it’s not poor Will, for Will knowed theer wur soombry thinkin’ on him, and soombry lookin’ out for him.’ “‘Will tak’s too much conceit in hissel’,’ says I, makkin’ shift to spake ’ard like. But he geet his arm round me again and pulled round my face to leet, an’ then it wur all ower wi’ me—he see plain enough as he’d spokken truth.” She relapsed into silence again, her face wearing a soft and tender smile that made it look almost young. “So when he came to court you he looked at you first through the window?” said I. Her face changed. “Yigh, ma’am; and it wur theer he took his last look at me afore he went away and left me. We’d been married then a good few month and I niver thought he’d be for leaving me again till I noticed as he wur gettin’ a bit onsattled-like. And wan neet he sot up in bed and shriked out, ‘Say’s callin’ me, Molly! say’s callin’ me.’ I towd him ’twere nonsense and he mun ha’ been dreamin’, and he said no moor, but next day he went wanderin’ up and down, up and down, yon by the shore. An’ he didn’t seem like hissel’. And a two’three days at arter a letter coom for him, and when he read it he went first red and then white as a sheet. ‘What does it say?’ I axed. ‘It’s fro’ my owd captain,’ says he. ‘He wants me to jine th’ ship agin. Molly, Molly,’ says he; ‘I towd thee say was callin’ me.’ ‘Nay, Will, dunnot be a fool,’ says I. ‘Thou mun write and tell captain as thou’s wed and has gettin’ wark upo’ dry lond, and as he mun look out for soombry else.’ But Will he coom aroun’ table to me and looked into my e’en, an’ his own face were half-sorrowful, and half-j’yful. ‘Nay, my lass,’ says he, ‘but I mun go. Sailors same as me connot live long wi’out they feel the wayter under them. I’s not be long away fro’ thee, my bonny wench—captain says it ’ull be nobbut a short v’yage, an’ I’ll be fain to get awhoam again—but I feel as I mun go.’ I pulled his two hands down and I pushed him fro’ me. ‘Thou’rt be fain to get back,’ says I—‘nay, but thou’rt fain to go. I tell thee if thou goes